


Holy War

by piq_snine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blackmail, Clever Harry Potter, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Finished, Forced Marriage, Kidnapping, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Orgy, Overpowered Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter, Underage Sex, Violence, the corruption arc everyone wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 102,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piq_snine/pseuds/piq_snine
Summary: Torn between being good and falling into evil, Harry struggles being the person he had promised Severus Snape he would be. Because if there is been anyone in his miserable life who loves him, it's the stranger he met as a child, the stranger who gave him a gift and never wanted anything in return besides Harry's happiness. So when that gift is taken from Harry, he struggles accepting that he was just a pawn in the game of Dark and Light. And when he is stolen out of the very life Harry thought he could have, he's determined to hold onto his fraying morality. Because a life as the Dark Lord's pet is very demanding and is leading him further away from the man he loves.Friend. Father. Confidant. Mentor. Severus Snape is all those things and more. Will there ever be anything more between them?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Thorfinn Rowle, Lucius Malfoy/Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 145





	1. Mirror Opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempted Non-con. Not graphic. Will separate with *** before and after ***

Harry Potter sat on the stool as his Aunt Petunia chopped away at his hair. Grunting when the scissors cut too close to his scalp.

“Hold still, you little wretch.” Pentunia cursed towards Harry. Dudley took particular glee in watching Harry struggle with the pricks and cuts into his ear and scalp.

“It hurts!” Harry shouted. At five years old, he couldn’t struggle all so much that he wouldn’t get thumped to the back of the head and knocked out of the stool. It was bad enough that his head was hurting, and not from the close snips of sharp blades. He’d had a headache all week.

Petunia didn’t say anything as she kept clipping away, hoping to hide the hideous scar on his forehead. When she was done clipping at his hair, she stood back and gave a grimace of a smile. Harry wondered if it looked that bad.

“Now get your jumper,” Pentuia pointed a gnarly finger towards his broom cupboard. “Mrs. Fig came down with some illness and can’t take you. You’ll have to come with us to the shops.”

At that, Dudley began screaming at Petunia, trying to kick her in the shins. Harry winced when a particularly good kick nearly knocked Petunia over.

Sitting in the backseat with Dudley, his car booster afforded him a perfect view outside.

He watched as the trees passed by, the leaves just budding in the early spring. Harry liked fall best, but the fresh looking leaves against dark wood was beautiful as well.

Spare buildings gave way to a proper town center. The City, as Vernon sometimes called it. Really, it wasn’t that far from their home, and not even the same ‘city’ that Vernon worked in. But it was big enough that every street sign caught Harry’s eye. The blurry colors were pretty, even if they strained his eyes. The people milling by in their own world fascinated Harry. Where were they going? What were they doing? And did they have a son like Dudley?

Probably not. Dudley seemed like a one of a kind kid. Those rough bullies who were so spoiled by their parents, that he was too soft for real violence. Save for on scrawny little boys like Harry. But, thankfully, Harry had learned to just be faster. 

When they parked, Harry was worried that Petunia was going to leave him in the car, like some yappy little dog. There was a moment where Petunia looked around, hesitated, then thankfully, commanded he get out. Together, they walked down the street and towards a grocer. Harry was excited to go inside and look at all the brightly colored packages. Maybe he could lift a candy bar or two while Dudley made a fit. But his hopes were dashed when his aunt pointed at a bench a few feet from them.

“Stay here,” Petunia ordered, pointing at the street bench. Harry looked over at it and his heart dropped. Looks like no candy bars for Harry today.

The streets weren’t nearly so full, given it was early on a Tuesday morning. So, no one paid him any mind sitting alone on the bench in the street. Harry tried to entertain himself, trying to remember the numbers he’d been taught at school, or go through the colors he knew as he spotted them. When he began looking around at different store front, it was then that he saw a tall, thin man walking, nearly gliding, down the street. Completely dressed in black, the man glared at the shops and the people who got too close. It reminded Harry of Dudley as he stalked the school yard, looking for Harry.

Long black hair, a large crooked nose, and long, thin fingers that swept his hair back took Harry’s attention. He’d never seen a man completely dressed in black on a hot, sunny day. Harry kept looking at him as he got closer, noticing how differently he was dressed than the others on the street. A thin peacoat suit jacket, with so many buttons! A white collar poking out and also down at his sleeves. Black trousers and a high shine on his boots that clicked importantly down the cobbled street.

Harry was mesmerized by the pitch-black eyes scanning shop windows. So much so, that he was startled when they landed on him. Immediately Harry’s gut clenched at being caught out. Tearing his eyes away from the man, Harry stared down at the tips of his toes.

“Where are you guardians?” a deep voice asked. Beyond the tip of Harry’s worn shoes, he could see the high shine boots. Could almost see his reflection in them.

“They’re inside.” Harry said before following the legs up to eventually look at the man’s face. A scowl painted his features, “I wasn’t feeling well, so I came out here.”

It was a common enough lie Harry had adopted. Anytime he was caught outside for too long by the neighbors, he’d complain about being shut inside so long he felt sick. It seemed to do the trick. Older folks nodding their heads in approval, saying something about _kids and their televisions, they should be outside, too!_

“I see.” The man replied. After a bit more, Harry was sure that the man would nod his head and move on, he opened his mouth to say something else. Closed it, then looked down at the collar of Harry’s shirt. “You have blood on your collar.” Harry tried looking down; but couldn’t see anything. “Are you okay?”

Biting his lip, Harry tried looking anywhere but in this man’s eyes. What was he supposed to say about that? What could he say to not get in trouble? But, he supposed, the truth was easy enough to get away with.

“I moved when getting my hair cut.” Harry looked up to the man, black, depthless eyes looking deep. Harry felt a tingling in the back of his head, like the beginning of a headache. But nothing happened. “It was an accident.”

“Do you have a lot of accidents?”

“No.” Harry was saying before he could stop himself. “But I get in trouble a lot.”

The man chuckled. Harry tried to tell if the man was being cruel, like Uncle Vernon liked to be on occasion.

“Are you happy, with your aunt?” The man asked. Shifting in his seat, Harry wondered how the man knew that he was living with his aunt. But then again, strange things have always happened to Harry. Funny dressed people approached him all the time to shake his hand and thank him. For what, Harry may never know.

“I guess.” Harry muttered. He tried looking past the dark stranger, trying to see if his aunt and cousin were nearly finished with the shopping. “I don’t like my cousin, though.”

“I would suppose not.” The man might’ve chuckled, but it was so quickly hidden that Harry wasn’t sure it had happened. The man fidgeted a bit, exchanging his weight from foot to foot. Harry thought he was likely very uncomfortable. “If you would like,” the man dragged something small out of his pocket, “I can be there for you, if you need.”

The man held out a small pocket mirror. Harry looked at the gift, not knowing what was being offered.

“My name is Severus Snape,” the man, Severus, squatted to be eye level to a bewildered Harry. “I knew your parents. I knew your mother really well. I’m sure your aunt has not told you much about her.” Severus deposited the small mirror into Harry’s small hand. “Or if you ever need to talk. Just think the words in your head and I can hear.”

“Like magic?” Harry remembered hearing a story at school where a magic queen had spoken into a mirror.

“Exactly like magic.” Severus remained squatted in front of Harry. Black hair brushed back to reveal more of his features. Harry thought the man looked really pale, and there were stains on his fingers, like he was painting in black and red. “In fact, it is magic. Only you and I can do it. It will have to be our secret.”

“Teacher said that we’re not supposed to have secrets with grownups. Especially strangers.” Harry said, quick as a flash. But he pocketed the mirror, not moving away from Severus.

The man laughed then. He looked over his shoulder into the store for something. Deciding that it was time to leave, Severus stood and fixed his peacoat. As if it were wrinkled or crooked.

“I’m glad you know not to trust strangers much. But your aunt doesn’t like magic, and I’m sure your uncle and cousin don’t either.” Then, in Harry’s head, so clear, Severus continued. “ _So, be careful who you tell.”_

The man walked away, briskly, and disappeared around the corner. Harry watched him go, gob smacked. Something in Harry’s body was reaching out to the man, as if the mental touch into Harry’s mind had strings connecting them. Or ribbons.

In the short time that they had been talking, Harry thought they made some sort of connection. Maybe it was that magic Severus was talking about. Maybe it was because this was one of the only positive interactions with an adult since he could remember.

Green eyes searched the street for the man in black, Harry was startled when he heard his aunt’s screeching voice. Jumping in his seat, Harry quickly followed his aunt and cousin further down the street, away from where Severus went. For some reason, Harry nearly felt like crying.

That night, Harry was in his cupboard, ignoring the pains of hunger and the bruises on his back and was observing the little pocket mirror. It was like a locket, where there was a mirror on one side and a blank space on the other. It was completely brass and had a good shine to it. No larger than the palm of his hand, Harry thought Severus had it for a long time. Little black grooves where the polish had gathered, giving the mirror character.

 _“It’s really pretty.”_ Harry tried thinking. There was no response. So, he said it out loud, thinking really hard on Severus. The black hair, black clothes, stern face, and gentle smile when he wasn’t glaring. There had been an energy around the man that felt like the kind of cold of winter that wakes you up, laced with something as strong as tree roots. Harry tried concentrating harder on the feeling that Severus had around him and repeated his words.

 _“It really is.”_ Severus’ deep, dark voice echoed inside Harry’s head. In his surprise, Harry jumped on his cot and dropped the mirror. The waking cold disappeared, strangely enough, the feeling was inside his head. Not at all like a brain freeze.

“Sorry,” Harry said in a whisper, clutching the mirror tightly in his hands. “You scared me.”

 _“What are you doing up this late, Harry?”_ Severus sounded as if he were admonishing Harry. The boy ducked, as if he could hide from the voice in his head. _“Are you okay?”_

Harry tried not thinking about the bruising on his back or the fact he hadn’t eaten since early this morning. It must be around eleven thirty, since Dudley was snoring away upstairs.

“I’m fine.” Harry whispered, ears straining to make sure his aunt or uncle didn’t hear him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

There was a long silence, Harry thought the man might have gone to sleep. Thankfully, he kept holding the pocket mirror, examining its surface.

_“I’ve just finished grading papers. I have some time to talk if you need.”_

Harry giggled, thinking the man sounded a little put out. Snuggling deeper into his blankets, Harry got comfortable, thinking of what he could talk to an adult about.

“How old are you?”

 _“I’m twenty-three. Same age as your parents.”_ Severus sighed. Harry latched onto that bit of information. _“Yes, I went to school with your parents. A school for people with magic.”_

People with magic? Like a witch? Harry thought it was all a made-up story. Something his teachers would talk about to get kids to stay on task and draw something in crayon for their mums and dads.

_“Witches, wizards, the occasional warlock and mage. They are all different, skills and talents…”_

“What’s it like there?” Harry asked, interrupting what Harry thought was boring. “What was my mum and dad like?”

They talked until Harry fell asleep, listening to a story about how Severus and Lily, he hadn’t even known his mum’s name until now, had been playing a sort of wizard tag with some Hufflepuff students at a place called Hog-warts. Harry fell asleep to dreams about people flying in the clouds, disappearing into thin air, and dragons fighting against knights with sticks of wood like wands.

Somewhere else in England, lay a tired potions’ master. He would never admit to smiling, thinking about the sleeping boy in Little Whinging. He hoped Harry would come to trust him, to lean on him if Petunia or her husband ever treated him wrongly. Fortunately, Severus was consoled with the fact that Harry just might be a night owl. Like his mother.

Several months had passed until Harry contacted Severus again. It was while he was at Mrs. Fig’s waiting for Dudley’s birthday to end. Sheltered away from Fig and her multitude of cats and cabbage smell, Harry pulled out the pocket mirror and simply thought of Severus. The man answered immediately.

 _“Are you alright, Harry?”_ The man sounded a bit worried, and maybe a little distracted. But he didn’t sound angry. Which made Harry feel all the better.

“Yeah,” Harry said aloud, crouched behind Mrs. Fig’s overgrown rose bush. “I’m at Mrs. Fig’s place. I didn’t want to go to Dudley’s birthday.”

Harry thought he heard the older man hum in understanding. It was otherwise quiet. Maybe Severus was busy.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone.” Harry whispered before putting his mirror away. His chest constricted, thinking that he was just being annoying and pestering a man who had yet a reason to hate Harry.

 _“Wait!”_ Severus sounded eager. Harry thought of the man reaching out in his mind, hand outstretched. _“I’m sorry, I was distracted for a bit. Did you need to talk?”_

“No.” Harry clutched the mirror in his pocket, he was nearly shivering, thinking he was going to get a dressing down. “I’m sorry.”

 _“Nothing to be sorry for, Harry. I’m sorry if it sounded as if I were ignoring you.”_ Severus must have been thinking of a lot of other things. Things Harry couldn’t quite grasp. He could hear Severus list off the ingredients, eye of newt, beetle’s wings, pixy spittle. _“I’m brewing. Making a potion.”_

“To change someone into a frog?” Harry exclaimed. It was one of the things that he knew witches could do. Change people into animals.

_“No, there is a spell for that. It’s a potion for fainting."_

Severus continued on as he had that night. Talking through his motions and ingredients, telling Harry why it was all important. Harry went about his day, though, clutching the mirror tightly just to keep listening to Severus talk. He would ask questions sometimes. Especially when Severus got quiet.

Harry would bother him later that night, munching on some food stuffs that Mrs. Fig hid in Harry’s pockets. She might be a little barmy, but at least she fed Harry.

“I want to make potions like you.” Harry said sleepily, stomach heavy with food and cuddled tight into his moth-eaten blankets.

_“It takes a lot of practice, Harry. You’ll have to study hard when you come to Hogwarts.”_

“Will you be my teacher?” Harry was beginning to drift off. But he could hear Severus’ quiet pause, and then his answer.

_“I already am.”_

Harry fell asleep to peaceful dreams. A black-haired man stirring a large cauldron, cackling happily over his roiling green potion. But when he brought up the large stirring spoon, Harry saw that Severus drug up a delicious looking tart.

_“For you, Harry.” His voice was serene, like all bad guys just before poisoning their victims. Harry took it anyways, and when he bit into it, flavor exploded on his tongue that he’d never had. It was delicious. Bite after bite he devoured it. Then, he was brought up into Severus’ arms and coddled like Petunia does to Dudley. “All for you, Harry.”_

_“Thank you, Sev’rus.”_

In July, Harry went about his chores as slowly as he could. It was hot and miserable already, and he didn’t much like being outside for so long underneath the glaring sun. He hadn’t been able to visit with Severus much since Dudley’s birthday, mostly because he was busy running away and hiding from Dudley and his gang. The back garden was no help, the fences were too high and too small of a place for the boys to catch him.

Of course, Dudley’s most favorite game was Catch the Freak. And once they did, Harry was punched, bit, and sometimes kicked. Vernon and Petunia did nothing to stop it and would only tell the boys to keep it down. One time, Harry was struggling underneath one of Dudley’s friends when he punched the boy in the nose. Blood immediately began to trickle out and the boys ran to Vernon, screaming foul.

“What did you do, boy?” Vernon came out, fists clutched like pork hocks, face the color of puce. “Your violent behavior must be dealt with.” Vernon pointed inside the house, “Now. Upstairs.”

Shaking, Harry did as he was told. He knew he had to go into Vernon and Petunia’s room. His aunt just watching him from the couch where she was needling something. Her mouth was tight and pierced.

Harry made it to the bedroom just as Vernon came up on the landing. He didn’t know what was going to happen this time. He’d been spanked before, yelled at, and even sent to his cupboard for nearly two whole days as punishment. Barring the scraps of food and twice a day potty breaks, Harry wasn’t allowed much. But that was for minor things. Things like not finishing a chore properly. Or talking back to either Dursley. Or being caught taking too much food. This, however, was different. Nathaniel would likely have to go to hospital because of Harry’s actions.

“Face the bed, boy.” Vernon barked. Harry did as he was told as quickly as he could. He wanted to say something, defend himself maybe. But nothing came out. He’d never felt this type of anger from his uncle before. There was some tinkling sound, then a closing closet door, and Harry’s head buzzed with trying to figure out what his punishment was going to be. “Seems like not even a switch will teach you how to behave. We’ll have to increase the weight of your punishment. Take your shirt off.”

Something cold and tight locked Harry’s limbs, his core falling into an abyss of dread. Why would he have to take his shirt off? A blinding smack of pain erupted over his shoulder and wrapped around his clavicle. Harry tried screaming, but a fat hand wrapped around his mouth.

“Do as I say now, boy. And maybe this belt won’t hurt so much.”

Downstairs, Dudley and his friends turned up the volume of the television, Petunia’s radio playing loudly in her sunroom. While Harry was upstairs, screaming in pain.

Ten minutes later, though his punishment hadn’t lasted the entire time. Harry was pulled up by his arm, nearly ripping his shoulder out of his socket, and forced to put his shirt back on. Vernon still holding the leather belt just above the buckle.

“Teach you to hit another kid.” Vernon ended up dragging Harry out the bedroom and nearly kicked Harry down the hall towards the stairs. “Get to your cupboard. No meals.”

Vernon hadn’t even said how many hours or days he was to be in there. Likely until Harry stopped bleeding.

Locked inside, Harry buried his face into his lumpy pillow and cried as loud as he dared. He choked and coughed on his tears. What had he done so wrong? It had been an accident. It wasn’t as if those horrible boys weren’t already holding him down and beating him. Those bruises were only just now purpling. His stomach was sore, his head pounded fiercely, and his hands shook in pain after being stepped on by Uncle Vernon.

He wished he could take it all back. He wished that he could have just ran out to the front of the house and sat on the street curb, daring someone to yell at him. He wished he didn’t have to be here.

When everyone was asleep, Harry took a slim wire from the lining of one of his trousers. It was long and hooked and just enough to fit through the slats of the grate of his cupboard. He’d gotten this part down really well, ever since seeing it on a James Bond movie Dudley was watching.

Latch slowly opened, Harry took a breath to listen and see if anyone were awake. He didn’t hear anything but snoring from upstairs. Nodding his head, and urging his sore and stiff body to move, Harry pressed the door open a bit and tiptoed out to the hall. He knew just the spots to step on, how to distribute his weight on his feet to gentle his step. Calmed his breathing. All just to get to the kitchen safely.

The bin had already been taken out. Harry wanted to cry again. It was his chance at getting any real food tonight. The fridge was carefully monitored, every scrap of food except Dudley’s hoard in his room. But Harry knew he didn’t have the time or energy to make that trip. Instead, he started the tap to a trickle and caught the stream in his hand before it could make noise at the bottom of the empty sink. He drank mouthfuls of precious water.

Harry then stood and listened to the household around him. He still couldn’t hear anyone moving around so he decided to take a chance. If he wanted to eat he’d have to get out to the garden. He’d already eaten all his cache of packaged bars and biscuits from Ms. Fig that were hiding in the dirt. So, he had to go after the flowers.

Dhalias, marigolds, snapdragons, and violas. Harry was lucky that Petunia loved these types of flowers. Ms. Fig had once eaten a viola in her green salad, which moved Harry to ask what other types of flowers were edible. And thankfully, Petunia didn’t spend a lot of time in the garden to count the blooms, because Harry had eaten quite a lot. He couldn’t bring them in and chance anyone noticing the smell of flowers. So, he sat outside, counted the stars, and emptied his bladder on a part of the lawn by the rain gutters.

Carefully tucked and locked back inside his cupboard, Harry put his wire back, and took out the hand mirror. He had no intention of talking to Severus tonight. But the man must have felt his presence in his mind.

 _“Why are you awake, Harry?”_ Severus sounded drowsy. Or drunk. _“Should be in bed.”_

“Sorry,” Harry tried sounding just as tired. “I had a bad dream.”

There was silence for a while. It felt, in his mind, that Severus was trying to organize his thoughts. Sadness, aching longing, and an unhealthy amount of guilt. Harry could relate.

 _“Want to talk about it?”_ Severus asked, sounding kind of distant. Harry shrugged his shoulders. _“I can listen, if you’d like.”_

He definitely sounded drunk. Harry felt… disappointed. He didn’t know why. This man was still, essentially, a stranger to Harry. There would be no reason why Severus should be trying to live up to five-year-old’s expectations.

 _“Sorry,_ ” Severus slurred, even in his head. _“Had kind of a rough day.”_

“It’s okay, Severus.” Harry mumbled quietly in the dark. The pocket mirror brought close to his chest, cradling it to him protectively. He wouldn’t know what he’d do if his family found the little treasure. “I should be sleeping.”

 _“Not unless you’re afraid of the dark, Harry. Nightmares can be scary._ ”

“Not as scary as real monsters.” Harry tried not thinking of Vernon and that belt. Or Petunia and her wooden spoon. And definitely not Dudley and his cronies.

 _“Do you see real monsters?”_ Severus asked, perking up. _“Some are…_ ”

“Real?” Harry sat up in his cot. Stomach tightening against the bouquet of flowers he’d eaten earlier. “Like vampires and werewolves and goblins?”

 _“I shouldn’t have said that.”_ Severus sounded angry at himself. Harry could now tell the difference with the man. _“Won’t help your nightmares.”_

“I guess not. But if they’re real, then so are unicorns and dragons and fairies, right?” Harry was excited, his heart lifting the first time in nearly a week.

 _“For every dark creature, there is a light creature. But dragons and_ _pixies can be considered less dark more neutral. Unicorns are real. And they’re beautiful_. _”_ Severus told Harry another story. About how he and Lily swore they saw some running around in the Forbidden Forest at school. Then there was the giant squid. Things called grinding-lows, and all sorts of fantastic creatures.

“Sev’rus?” Harry asked, finally feeling drowsy enough to fall asleep. He missed hearing the man’s gentle voice. “I’m glad I met you. Even if you’re like a ghost in my head.”

Harry didn’t hear Severus’ reply, if he had one. Harry dropped the pocket mirror and snuggled deep into his blanket. He hadn’t been able to forget about his aches and pain, but at least he was distracted enough to not feel them as bad.

The following day Harry was kept locked away. Same as the day after that, for four whole days he was locked inside. Two potty breaks and the barest amount of food. He knew better than to whine and ask or beg for more. He’d only be slapped on his face or glared at for doing something like that. Harry decided to stay in their good graces and say ‘thank you’ every time they brought him food or addressed him.

After being released, Harry kept his head down and completed his chores without a single word back to his family. He snuck his food and tried replenishing his caches and took every opportunity to drink water. There was only so much of a lull from Dudley until the larger boys’ scheming became obvious. And when they did, Harry made sure that he had at least two exits from every room.

July ended quickly. Harry hardly noticed its near passing. That was until a large, wrapped package came in the mail for Harry. The boy stared in wonder, eating his cold cereal when Petunia came in holding the package. He wondered who’d forgotten Dudley’s birthday and sent the present so late.

“It’s addressed to the boy.” Petunia nodded towards Harry, her face pale and foreboding. Harry ate his cereal quickly, just in case he was in trouble. “It’s from _them._ He would know if the boy got it.”

Uncle Vernon didn’t look very happy. In fact, the portly man glared at Harry the entire time Harry set to unwrap it when it was placed in front of him. Brown wrapping gave way to colorful wrapping that cheerily announced ‘Happy Birthday’ with balloons floating around it. Heart racing Harry looked up to Petunia.

“Today is my birthday?”

“I suppose it is.” Petunia sneered at the gift and walked back to the stove. Dudley was screaming the entire time saying he wanted it. Neither of them even knew what it was yet.

Gift paper gone, Harry opened the plain cardboard box and dug out a plush, darkly colored dragon with a long whipping tail and wings that seemed to look like a bat’s wings. Even the shiny scales on the soft toy felt real. Harry gaped at it in wonderment. He hadn’t recognized where this kind of toy came from. Maybe it was a wizard’s toy.

“Yuck.” Dudley scrunched his nose up. “What an ugly thing. Looks just like Harry.”

Dudley laughed; Vernon chuckled. Though, Harry couldn’t help but gaze lovingly at his very first new toy.

“It’s pretty.” Harry squeezed it up to his chest. It was nearly half the size of his body. He’d have to tell Severus how thankful he was for it.

“You’ve seen it.” Vernon said in a mean voice. Harry knew what he was going to say next. “Now give it here.”

Heartbroken, Harry tried deciding what he wanted. Suffer another punishment by telling the man ‘no’ and get it taken away. Or, give it up willingly with only a broken heart. Spots crowded his vision.

“If I keep it.” Harry tried bargaining. “I’ll do anything you want. I promise.” Harry begged. “Just let me keep it. Please.”

“No.” Vernon’s meaty hand was held up, waiting for the plush. “Give it here.”

“You can beat me again. I won’t even cry.” Harry pleaded, tears erupting like an open faucet despite his begging. “I promise. Just please let me have it.”

Harry wrapped his body around the toy, enveloping the lifelike plush in his arms. He kept begging and bargaining as Vernon got up and tried pulling his arms away. He grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and began hitting Harry on his back. But Harry kept his silence. Hoping Vernon would be swayed.

“Give it to me now, boy.” Vernon yelled, spoon coming down harder on his back and arms now. “I will get that thing.”

“NO!” Harry didn’t know why he was fighting so hard for this toy. But he felt like it was just another lifeline to a man he met only once. “He’ll know!” The spoon stopped. “He’ll know if it gets tossed. Please let me keep it!”

The spoon never came back down. Harry was only taking what he thought he knew from what Petunia had mentioned. ‘ _He_ would know’ she had said. And Harry knew that the toy came from Severus.

“H-how do you know about _that_.” Vernon stuttered. Harry daren’t look up to see the face Vernon was making.

“I don’t.” Harry sniffled. “But Aunt Petunia said so. Didn’t she?”

Harry was able to keep the toy. But he had to submit to more whipping up in Vernon and Petunia’s room. This time it was his thighs as well that bled.

A card had come with it. Made out of thick brownish paper, not one of the typical cards you could buy from a store. Harry made off with that as well, when he noticed it laying in the trash bin.

 _“I hope your birthday went well, Harry.”_ Severus said later that night. At least Severus sounded sober. But it made it that much more difficult at hiding Harry’s thoughts.

“It did.” Harry sniffed, looking at his plush dragon, it had terrible looking yellow eyes. “I ate so much cake my stomach hurt. I didn’t get a lot of presents this year, but at least all my friends showed up.”

Harry wanted to throw-up. He didn’t like the idea of lying to Severus.

 _“Harry, you don’t have to lie to me.”_ Severus must have been able to tell. _“I can tell when you do.”_

Harry sighed. Severus couldn’t always tell. Harry had lied to Severus a couple of times already. But every time he felt like getting sick.

“Well, it could have gone better.” Harry admitted. “But I really like your gift.” There, that wasn’t a lie.

 _“I’m sure it’s only because it’s the dragon from our story.”_ Severus chuckled. _“A Welsh Green, very scary dragon.”_

Harry smiled through the tears. His back and thighs were on fire, his body tense and stiff. He felt like he was dehydrated, dry as the page in his hand.

“What does your letter say?” Harry asked. “I want to hear it from your voice.”

 _“I’m sure I could indulge you of your whims, Lord Potter.”_ Severus sounded entertained. _“_ Wishing you all the very best on your sixth birthday. S _. There, happy?”_

“Yup.” Harry tried not crying again. He didn’t want Severus to know he’d never had a birthday before. Never gotten a gift or a card. Or even a well wish. Petunia and Vernon certainly never said anything kind to him. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t keep it back any longer. “I didn’t even know it was my birthday. I’ve never had o-one."

Maybe if he said this, he could bypass the fact he was black and blue all along his back.

 _“What?”_ Severus sounded angry. Fuming. A rage filled beast. Harry winced at the emotions. _“What do you mean? She can’t actually hate you that much. How could you never know your birthdate?”_

Harry tried explaining the best he could. He didn’t really understand why they were so mean to him. By the end of it, Severus knew a little better the scope of Harry’s life in the Dursley’s house. No matter how much Harry begged that he didn’t do anything, Severus only said to stay there and stay safe.

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked, clutching his pocket mirror out of fear. “Severus?” no answer, but he could still feel the heavy, burning weight of anger. “Severus. SEVERUS?”

“Shut up, boy.” Thundering feet pounded down the stairs. Harry was in for it now. “Who the hell are you talking to this late at night?”

The cupboard door wrenched open and revealed a purple faced, heavily breathing Vernon. One chunky hand came in and grabbed at Harry around his collar tightly and yanked him out of the cupboard. Harry screeched, quickly pocketing the pocket mirror before Vernon could see it.

“You’re in for it now, boy.” Vernon growled, then chuckled low in his throat. Harry shivered and tried not to cry. “I’m not sure what else to do with you if a beating won’t shut your mouth.” Vernon threw Harry face down on the couch, Harry froze, not wanting to incite more wrath. “Maybe this will finally work.”

***

Vernon yanked Harry’s sleep pants and underwear down, exposing Harry to the chilled air. Over the criss-cross of the welts and bruises and closed lacerations came a resounding slap on his rear. It was a bare hand, spanking Harry hard enough to jar him further into the couch cushions. Harry’s mouth opened up into a silent scream before another slap thrust him forward. Again and again until Harry felt weak and lightheaded. Vernon didn’t stop even when Harry felt like passing out. He knew begging to stop wouldn’t appease Vernon.

“Not even had enough of this, boy.” Vernon chuckled darkly. The sound of it soured Harry’s stomach, bile rising to his throat. He’d never received anything so evil, so vile as this. He briefly wondered if he would see his seventh birthday, let alone Christmas. “In fact,” Vernon finally stopped spanking Harry. Quick breaths keeping Harry from passing out. “I think I have something else for us.”

Harry lay motionless, waiting for more of his punishment. Certainly for waking Vernon up. That was when he felt something wet on his backside, something big and hard. Panicking, Harry tried scrambling up onto the couch and over it to get away. But a hand on his hip stopped him. He screamed in earnest now, not knowing what was happening but _knowing_ intuitively that this was wrong. Beyond wrong. It was certainly evil.

***

Harry’s piercing scream erupted into a blinding light, a solid force pushed Vernon off of Harry and across the room. Harry couldn’t see what happened to his uncle, but knew that, somehow, it was magic that saved him.

“Don’t,” Harry whimpered, collapsing into the couch, watching Vernon struggle to get up, his own pants down. “don’t ever, hurt me again.”

Harry blacked out.

He’d been left on the couch all night, no one had even pulled his pants back up, though he was covered with a blanket. Sore and bruised all over, Harry carefully opened his eyes. He was able to take in the living room, though not as trashed as it had looked last night, before smelling breakfast in the kitchen. Harry groaned, stomach turning over and over. He was going to be sick.

He raced to the downstairs toilet and emptied out his stomach, bile and blood from his bitten tongue was the only things coming up. Harry began crying. Why was this happening? Was he such a bad kid that Vernon and Petunia had no other choice but to do this to him? He knew that he talked back, sometimes he would throw things at Dudley, or he would bite Dudley’s friends. But he couldn’t be half as horrible as Dudley… right

Maybe he deserved this all. Maybe he was such a bad kid that to have this family and a room for his self and food made him ungrateful. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe Harry knew that this kind of punishment, the kind that Uncle Vernon was trying to deliver, wasn’t something that Harry deserved. No matter what.

Teeth brushed, hair wetted down, Harry came out the bathroom and went right to his cupboard, expecting to be locked in as soon as he lay down. So he held onto his Welsh Green dragon, curled around it, and fell asleep. Eyes dry but stinging.

It was weeks of the Dursley’s tip-toeing around Harry, making sure not to anger him. Whatever it was that Vernon said was the reason for Harry using a bit of his magic, made Petunia and Dudley scared enough not to antagonize Harry. And in a way, that was a bit lonelier.

He’d done his chores, taken care of the garden, fixed food for himself, even if Petunia put a little plate on the floor of the hall next to his cupboard door. He would put it back, untouched, and curl back up around his dragon.

Severus had likely tried to talk with Harry since his birthday, but Harry hadn’t used the pocket mirror. He’d ignored the mirror, though never let go of the little dragon.

Weeks of nearly ignoring and placating, and one of the Dursley’s had to break.

“School starts soon.” Pentunia was buttering a piece of bread, taking a nibble of it. Harry looked up to the others, trying to gage the tension in the air. “I’ll have to take _him_ to get some things, I suppose. There can be no more marks, darling.”

Vernon grunted his agreement, not looking up from his beef Wellington. Harry hated eating such heavy foods in the summer.

“We were lucky his hand healed by itself,” Petunia sighed, as if disappointed by the call for the weather, “would have had to take him to hospital.”

Harry looked down at his right hand. He hadn’t known, but his hand had broken in several places, his wrist having been fractured under the grinding foot.

“He’s fine, ‘tunia.” Vernon muttered around his Wellington, swirling a glass of red wine. “That _freak_ can take care of himself.”

“We can’t have the marks show, Vernon.” Petunia put her silverware down harshly, making a clatter that startled Harry. “We’ll have to think of something else.”

“Starve him, lock him in, _hmmf,_ lock him out.” Vernon was listing the other ways to punish without directly hurting Harry. A shiver went through Harry’s body, nearly convulsing in fear. The gleam in Vernon’s eye hadn’t stopped shining, even when Harry’s magic blasted him across the room. Harry had to find out how to use his magic like that again before Vernon made another attempt. “We’ll figure it out."

By September, Harry and Severus were back to school. Harry was in year one at his primary school while Severus was wrestling with himself on the best way to survive this years’ students. Harry’s first day of school was beginning as his day usually went. He’d wake up, dress, serve breakfast (as he wasn’t allowed to cook), and complete what chores he could before being ushered out the door alongside Dudley.

Despite the animosity since his birthday, Harry found he was incredibly excited for school to begin. It was less time at the Dursley’s he’d have to spend, and maybe he could make new friends this time.

First year was horrible. Dudley had made sure to bully any other student to stay away from Harry. And when teachers would be concerned about why Harry didn’t like to play with others, Harry made up excuses. Getting more and more creative. He was sure that his teachers knew he was lying, but they never called him out on it. He’d found out why after Christmas break, one teacher was commenting to his teacher that Harry was a “problem child” at home and constantly picked on Dudley.

Harry wanted to scream.

Harry hadn’t picked up the pocket mirror the entire time. Instead, he’d play with his dragon, a few of the broken tin soldiers and other figurines Dudley had broken and tossed out. He recreated the scenes from Severus’ stories, and brandished a stick he’d found that he thought would make a perfect wand.

It was June, Harry was back in his cupboard, playing with the makeshift wand, when a few sparks lit up the small room. They were red and white. Harry gasped, and dropped the wand in his excitement.

The sparks hadn’t come from the wand. Instead they’d come from his hand. He looked over his hands, wondering how he’d done it. He wasn’t thinking of anything particular. So he had no idea what he was doing. Or should be doing.

Harry finally picked up the pocket mirror.

“Severus!” Harry exclaimed, nearly shouting in his little cupboard, he wasn’t afraid of being beaten any more for talking to himself. “Severus!”

 _“Harry!”_ Severus answered nearly immediately. _“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”_

“No, I’m fine,” _currently,_ Harry thought to himself. “I made sparks from my hand! I did magic!”

There was a kind of chuckle, or huff, that sounded in Harry’s head. He smiled, the action warming him inside for the first time in nearly a year.

 _“I’m really proud of you.”_ Severus did sound proud. Elated almost. Like when Dudley brought home passing marks in his classes. _“I was really worried about you. I thought that something had happened.”_

“Nothing really. I panicked and thought I lost the pocket mirror.” Harry bit his lip. It was near enough to the truth. He hadn’t retrieved it from the sleep pants from that night, afraid to even see them. And so, had forgotten where he’d placed his pocket mirror. “But I found it. And I miss you. And I CAN DO MAGIC!”

 _“Very good, Harry. It’s the beginning of magic. In a few more years, you’ll receive your acceptance letter to Hogwarts, shop for your supplies, and become a real wizard._ ” Severus sounded like he was placating him. Like his teachers did to the other kids when they’d began acting up.

“I’m not a baby, Sev’rus.” Harry pouted. “I’m almost seven. And I’ve been good all year. I hadn’t even gotten into trouble once!”

Which was true, but the crushing loneliness of being ignored by his family and dismissed by nearly everyone at school was a poor tradeoff. Harry almost wished he hadn’t used his magic that night, even if it meant Vernon was touching his _bad place._ Though, Harry couldn’t think of that now. He didn’t want to have to let Severus know about his punishment.

 _“Good boy.”_ Severus sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Harry remembered comparing himself to a dog and giggled. _“You’ve been very good, I believe. I might even get you a bigger present.”_

“Please don’t.” Harry panicked. There was no way he was going to allow another episode of fighting over a single present. Besides. His tiny cupboard wouldn’t be able to hold anything bigger than another Harry. Even another Arthur the Dragon wouldn’t fit. “Arthur, the dragon you got me, is enough. I don’t want anything that Dudley would want to fight for. I don’t like fighting.”

Severus must have believed him. He didn’t say anything for a while, but Harry could tell something was on his mind. It was a heavy, watery presence, pressing against something in his mind. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was certainly noticeable.

 _“Are you sure you haven’t been hurt?”_ Severus asked, trying to get a bit of truth out of Harry. _“I could help you, if you need.”_

“I’m fine, Sev.” Harry nearly pleaded. He didn’t know what Severus would think of Harry if he’d see his living conditions, his scars, and how poorly his body looked underneath huge, draping clothing. “I’m okay. I promise. I won’t ever lie to you.” Though Harry knew, that any other question more direct than that, and he’d be spilling his guts. “Besides, you don’t like kids, remember?”

Harry was able to distract Severus into telling Harry about this years’ student. How awful they were at potions and how Fred and George Weasley would be the death of him.

 _“The other Weasley boys were brilliant. Well behaved if not a little exuberant.”_ Severus sneered as if exuberance were a sin, Harry only giggled. _“I’m curious, though, Harry. Have you been able to create or make anything else happen?”_

Harry didn’t know if telling Severus about how he’d blasted his Uncle Vernon across the living room after a _bad touch_ on Harry was smart. So he’d said no, nothing else since the sparks only moments ago.

 _“Well, Harry, I wouldn’t mind in teaching you some things that are useful. If not entertaining for you. Bear in mind, Harry James Potter, that you must never show your magic in front of a muggle. Perform this in your room or when you are otherwise alone.”_ Severus’ voice was so commanding that Harry shivered. It wasn’t bad, like when Vernon had ordered Harry upstairs to the bedroom. But it wasn’t that good of a feeling, mostly because he was afraid of what would happen if he broke the rules. _“Also, I believe we should get you to start practicing speaking in your head. That way, you won’t sound like a raving lunatic whenever you’d like to speak to me in public.”_

Nodding enthusiastically, Harry agreed and settled into a sitting position Severus guided him through.

 _“Breath in, breathe out._ ” Severus’ voice was gentle, soothing, and Harry wanted to wrap himself up in it and never come out.

Everyday, Harry practiced, he practiced his breathing, practiced his thought control, and practiced trying to produce the sparks again. He wasn’t very successful, but Severus assured him that this kind of thing takes time. Especially for Harry’s age, Severus wouldn’t think the boy would intrinsically be good at it.

It only took six weeks until Harry was proficient in all of his practices. Severus didn’t tell Harry how incredibly well he’d done. Instead, he began practicing more with Harry. Trying to get him to produce more than sparks. Harry tried, failed, tried again, and eventually succeeded. Severus would tell him how _good_ he was doing. How _good_ of a boy, student, wizard Harry was.

They talked, Harry cried, they talked about what they dreamed of and what they dream to do. Severus would have to remind himself that Harry was so young, not but a child, in a world that would swallow him up and spit him out with no apologies. Severus knew he had to be more than just a ‘ghost in the mind’ of a child. He needed to give Harry every opportunity to succeed. To survive. To live.

_“Are you sure you haven’t gotten a letter?”_ Severus asked one night in June, some years later. _“The acceptance letters should have already come to you._ ”

 _“They keep taking them. Uncle Vernon locked me in my room for trying to get one_.” Harry grumbled. He had a sore thought to kick at the cupboard door, but his aunt was still milling around in the hall. He’d really be in trouble then. Instead he picked at the ear of Arthur the Dragon.

Over the years of visiting with Severus, seeing hide nor hair of the man since he was five, Harry had gotten better at thinking of his words rather than speaking them out loud. Severus had been a constant fixture in Harry’s life, even if he thought he might be just a bit mad talking to a brass pocket mirror.

The opposite side of the pocket mirror contained a picture he’d found in a magazine, one that looked close enough to what Harry remembered Severus Snape looking like.

 _“I’ll let the Headmaster know.”_ Severus sounded angry. Frustration at the lack of acceptance by the Dursley’s especially where letters of acceptance are concerned. So many years they’d been talking, and Harry still hadn’t revealed what really goes on in this house. Especially to him. He didn’t think it was worth the man knowing anything. Besides, what could he do? Severus wasn’t related to him. And so Severus couldn’t save him even if Harry would beg and beg Severus to be real enough to rescue him. _“You said you’re all leaving?”_

 _“Yes,”_ Harry confirmed, he looked out the slats of his cupboard at the suitcases in the hall, waiting for Vernon to load them into the car. _“I’m not sure where we’re going. But you said the tracer spell will know where I’m at?”_

 _“Certainly. There’s no where you can go that we won’t know”_ Severus grumbled some more, trying his best to sooth Harry, despite his growing ire. Harry giggled, thinking about how cantankerous the man naturally was. Harry supposed he was really glad that Severus had quit being so stiff and cranky with him. _“We’ll make sure you get your letter.”_

Harry didn’t think it was the letter that Severus was angry about. More like he was upset that Petunia would never accept magic.

Harry sighed, as he was loaded into the car for the fifth time, squished into the back with Dudley. Every time they stopped the letters would come pouring into their room, an angry manager letting them know how full up the hotel offices were with them. Though, their new temporary residence on the craggy rock just off the coast of England was no better.

July thirty-first brought with it the usual congratulations from Severus. Harry smiled, thanking his friend for always remembering Harry stayed up until the minute the day began.

 _“Eleven-years old.”_ Severus chuckled. _“I’m sure you’ve grown like a sprout since I last saw you.”_

 _“Well, I’m certainly not five anymore, Sev.”_ Harry chided. The crumpled magazine photo could barely be seen in the dark of the shack. He was interrupted from completing his thought by a large bang on the door. Startled, Harry stood up and backed up into the corner. Dudley tried squeezing next to Harry but ended up tripping and falling into the nearby table.

“Who’s there?” Vernon’s shaky voice was barely loud enough over the rain, let alone the pounding at the door. Harry watched Vernon descend the stairs before Petunia, both shaking in their bath robes. The last bang on the door knocked it off its hinges, as if it were blown apart.

There, standing against the backdrop of pouring rain and clashing of lightning, was a giant of a man. On edge, Harry pressed closer into the corner of the mantle and dripping wall. Heavy clunking footsteps entered the shack.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” The giant turned and picked up the door and tried pressing the screws back into place. Satisfied with the shoddy work, the man faced the room and took in its occupants.

“I don’t know who you are, sir, but you are breaking and entering.” Vernon tried puffing up against the giant. Harry only saw the shotgun in his uncles’ hands when Petunia switched on the light. Where his uncle got a gun, he wasn’t sure. But if it would deter this man from tearing their heads off and eating them whole, who was to complain?

“Dry up, Dursley, you great prude!” The man took one large step towards Vernon and Petunia and tied the barrel of the shotgun into a knot. Harry stood, gawking at the spectacle. He’d only seen that happen in cartoons.

“Harry?” the man, bushy haired man nearly shouted over the thunder into the lower level. “You in ‘ere, ‘arry? I’m from Hogwarts, I’ve got yer letter.”

Harry nearly didn’t peak around the corner of the fireplace. If he hadn’t, he would have missed the green handwriting on the front of a very familiar letter.

“Who are you?” Petunia nearly growled at the man.

“My apologies.” The man fixed his heavy looking coat and gave a slight bow, obviously practiced. “Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of keys, and the grounds at Hogwarts.”

“You work at Hogwarts?” Harry, emboldened by the admission of employment, took a half step from his hiding place. Hagrid was hairier than he was bushy. A full black moustache and beard covering half of his face, beetle black eyes glancing over the cold fireplace.

“O’course!” Hagrid made his way over to the couch and collapsed into it. His large frame should have broken the thing in half, but luckily, it hadn’t. He pulled out a pink umbrella and pointed it at the empty fireplace. He muttered a spell and there was a burst of flames.

Coming around the fireplace, Harry noticed that no one else in the room had moved. Petunia and Vernon standing on the stairs, mouth open and eye’s wide. Harry knew his face looked the same.

It was different talking to someone in your head, concentrating on a little pocket mirror and a distant, fuzzy memory of a man he once met about a world you were born into but never stayed. Different talking to someone who was real and touchable. Harry felt a ball of anxiety relax a little in his stomach. He wasn’t aware that he’d been holding his breath for six years, hoping for the day to be _shown_ magic. Not just what could be his imaginations.

“I’ve come to deliver your letter.” Hagrid dug around in his various pockets. “But before that, I have a surprise for you.”

Harry watched Hagrid pull out a medium sized box, with a bit of ribbon tied around it. With shaking fingers, he opened the box up to a pink cake with green writing. ‘Hapee Birthdae, Harry’ stared back up at him.

“Erm, thank you.” Harry muttered. He placed the cake down on the table next to the couch. He put his hands in his jean pockets, hand closing around a brass mirror. _“Hagrid is here. He’s come to give me my letter.”_

 _“Better him than continuing to send owls.”_ Severus sneered immediately. _“He is trustworthy.”_

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Since around his sixth birthday, Severus had let Harry know that there might be someone, some people, who might want to hurt him. Thankfully, the only people who’d wanted to hurt him was people he already knew. And who were already hurting him.

“What is going on here.” Petunia hissed, coming around the couch and wrapping her arms around the still frozen Dudley. She’d obviously gotten over her fear of the huge man.

“He’s from the school. Where my mum and dad went.” Harry tried pointing out. Though what he really wanted to do was roll his eyes. He daren’t do it, even in front of a witness.

“How do you know –” Petunia breathed. Harry noticed that her shoulders tightened, and her face was doing something that resembled eating hot trash.

“I don’t think that matters more than the fact that you were trying to keep my school letter from me.” Harry yelled at her. He hadn’t meant to get angry, but after all these years of being dictated by his so-called family, Harry couldn’t be blamed for his outburst.

“You’ll not be going!” Vernon interrupted Harry’s tirade. Face purple from anger. Harry knew that if Hagrid wasn’t here, he’d be getting the beating of his life for speaking out of line. Despite magical warnings when he was younger. “We swore, that when we took you in that we’d put a stop to all this rubbish.”

Petunia smirked, agreeing with her walrus of a husband, fingers’ digging tight into her sons’ rounded shoulder.

“Yeh can’t stop this boy from goin’, he’s had his name down ever since the day he was born.” Hagrid argued, bellowing at the top of his lungs in his indignance. “He’s going to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry under the finest headmaster the school has ever seen.”

“I’m going.” Harry announced, interrupting Hagrid’s tirade, then to Vernon and Petunia, “I’m going and you can’t stop me. There will only be more people coming to check on me.”

Harry tried arguing with logic, emboldened by Hagrid’s presence. And Severus feeding him information on what the school’s plan was if Hagrid failed.

“You’ll be rid of me for a whole school year. You won’t even have to see me during breaks until summer.” Harry tried reasoning some more. It sounded like the best thing to him. Why shouldn’t it be for the Dursley’s.

“I won’t pay. I _won’t_!” Vernon insisted, stomping his foot and nearly blowing steam out his nostrils. “We’ve already given you a roof over your head, food off our plates, there’s no way you’re getting more money out of us.”

“I don’t need it!” Harry shouted, fed up with the nonsense of Vernon’s complaining. There was no use mentioning that the Dursley’s didn’t have to put up a penny for Harry’s education. The Dursley’s would bleed him dry and then kick him to the curb quicker than Harry would be able to blink.

“I’ll be takin’ him in.” Hagrid announced, drawing everyone’s attention. “The Ministry and the school ‘as given me permission to take ‘arry to get his things. You won’ ‘ave to pay fer anythin’.”

Harry looked up to the hairy man, eyes shining with unshed tears. He hadn’t cried since he was six, but he was willing to bet that the more Hagrid championed for him, the more Harry was swamped by emotions he’d never felt before.


	2. First Year

It was ridiculously easier after that to convince the Dursley’s to allow for Hagrid to take him. The giant graciously didn’t make a big deal out of their conversation and its implications. Instead, he took Harry into Wizarding London and introduced him, officially, into the world of magic. 

Two whole days were spent getting all of Harry’s things off the school supplies list; Harry’s wand was a handsome eleven inches of holly. Then a beautiful owl given to Harry as a gift by Hagrid. The Potions ingredients were selected by Severus in Harry’s mind. Harry was very excited to pass Severus’ test on how to get the best ingredients. The day couldn’t even be spoiled by the blond boy at Madam Malkins robe shop, or the tough talk about how Voldemort killed his parents.

Hagrid’s story gave a different view on what had happened than what Severus had told him. While Severus sounded contrite and saddened about telling Harry, Hagrid seemed like he was going to vomit every time he was meant to say Voldemort’s name.

His family avoided him when he returned, which suited Harry just fine. Dudley’s second bedroom emptied out for him, especially after Hagrid hinted at the school and Ministry keeping an eye on Harry. It was considerably lonelier when his family was afraid of him than when he was being constantly harassed.

Soon, it came time to ask uncle Vernon to bring Harry to King’s Cross to catch the train to school. Harry endured the teasing and laughing from Vernon about the platform number, but the comforting assurances from Severus kept Harry from dropping his head in defeat.

 _“Leave it to those moronic, incompetent, arseholes,”_ Severus was growling in Harry’s mind. Harry wasn’t entirely bothered by Severus’ attitude. It was nearly a direct reflection of how Harry was feeling. Though, he was sure Severus wouldn’t allow him to swear. _“They’ve no more sense than a blast-ended skrewt. It doesn’t quite matter which column, Harry, choose one between platform nine and ten, and push your trolley through.”_

 _“Shouldn’t I just wait for Hagrid? Or another wizarding family to follow?”_ Harry wondered while he pushed his trolley further and further down the platform. He’d already passed three columns but was admittedly too anxious to press through to the other side. He wished that Severus was here.

 _“I would give anything to be there for you now, Harry.”_ Severus had been able to pick up on Harry’s wants. The man hadn’t let Harry down yet. _“We will see one another soon.”_

 _“Then we’ll have to be teacher and student.”_ Harry groused.

He ended up following a group of red-headed wizards and witches into a column. The matriarch gave Harry a once over when on the other side, then looked over his shoulder as if waiting to see Harry’s guardians. Ducking his head down, Harry made his wonderous way towards the scarlet train. The steam engine already billowing, students and families wandered and weaved their way between others, chasing children and flying familiars.

Harry smiled, watching and thankful for the thousandth time, that he had not been losing his mind. That Severus was real, or, at least what the man had been telling him was real. A strange sort of excitement paired with an overwhelming feeling of anonymity. Swamped under the crashing waves of goodbye’s and ecstatic hellos. Feeling oddly cramped in this large area, Harry quickly made his way towards the entrance of a car to board. An attendant took Harry’s things, though told him to kindly take Hedwig.

It didn’t take long until Harry found an empty compartment to take a breath in. He watched families hug and kiss and cry, people with pointy hats milling around, and children talk right over one another. Harry’s heart clenched, hoping that this year would be the year to find and make some friends.

In his musing, Harry nearly missed the gentle knocking on the compartment door. He jumped, turned in his seat next to the window, and noticed a red-headed boy looking quite sullen.

“Excuse me, do you mind? Everywhere else is full.” Bright blue eyes searched the empty seats in his plea. Harry didn’t even have to think about his answer.

“Not at all.” He sat up straighter, hoping to take this opportunity.

“I’m Ron Weasley, by the way.” Ron held out a slim looking hand, his other, which Harry had only now noticed, cradled a sleeping rat to his chest.

Nerves shooting up higher, Harry was hesitant to sharing his name with the other boy. He’d known from Severus, and confirmed it with Hagrid, how the wizarding world considered him famous. Never mind having Dudley around to scare off potential friends, his fame would ensure that he wouldn’t be able to make honest friends.

“Harry, Harry Potter.” Harry held out his hand as well, grasping the other boys’ hand and shaking it once.

“Blimey,” Ron’s eyes widened hysterically. Harry would have laughed if he wasn’t so scared about his chances of not making friends. “Are you really? I’ve never met anyone who’s famous before. But I guess we’ll both meet the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore is pretty famous. He’s got an Order of Merlin and all.”

The boy swept into a histrionic about other famous witches and wizards, he asked about Harry’s time living with muggles, and who was Harry’s favorite quidditch team.

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of quidditch.”

“I’ve heard of it, but my friend doesn’t really care much for quidditch. He more likes potions and reading than sports.” Harry nibbled on some of the hoard of candy he’d purchased and decided to share with Ron. Even Scabbers was gnawing on a liquorish wand.

“Oh, well, I think it’ll be great to teach you all about the Chudley Cannons before you think any other team is good.” Ron continued with his extensive knowledge of the Cannons and touched on some of the Hogwarts house teams and his dreams of joining his house team next year. “First years aren’t allowed to play. Which is a pity. But I guess it will only help me to train some more, after watching the Gryffindor team play.”

“If your brothers played, wouldn’t you already know?” Harry asked, he’d watched a few students run down the corridor screaming over something. Another red-headed boy holding what looked suspiciously like a snake in his hands. “And what about the other house teams? Wouldn’t you want to watch what they’ve got?”

“I suppose. What house do you think you’ll be in? I hope I’m Gryffindor. The whole family has been for ages.” At this, Ron looked worried for the first time since asking to enter the cabin.

“I don’t care,” Harry sat back in his seat, contemplating a strangely colored looking Bertie Bott’s bean. “As long as I can stay.”

Ron sat up, looking at Harry’s face. Blue eyes serious and considering his words well.

“You’ve already got your letter, mate.” Ron said, voice strong and steady. “They won’t kick you out. Besides, you’ll always have me.”

“Even if I’m a Slytherin?” Harry asked. The other boys’ breath caught, and his cheeks turned pink.

Ron sat back in his seat, carefully considering Harry’s words.

They’d been interrupted by a busy looking bushy haired girl asking if anyone had seen a toad. Harry dragged Ron out of his seat to help look for a bit. They hadn’t been successful. Minutes later, they rushed to get their school robes on just as the train was pulling into the station in Hogsmead.

Harry had been awed by the trip across the black lake, the lights of Hogwarts gleaming in the distance. Harry had forgotten about the mirror in his pocket and the man on the other side of it. That is until he and the rest of the first-year students were left waiting in the antechamber of the doors to the Great Hall to be sorted.

_“Severus.”_

_“Harry, how are you?”_ Severus’ voice was distantly distracted, Harry thought he was conversing with another professor.

_“I’m almost there. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”_

_“Breath, Harry. You will be fine. Beyond those doors is a room full of older students, a beautiful room you will love, and the Sorting Hat to place you in your house._ ”

Harry listened to Severus, breathing as he’d been taught. Ron kept buzzing in his ear about something or another, but Harry wasn’t as talented as Severus was to have two minds. That was, until Ron said something that caught his attention. He’d been talking to the same blond-haired boy from Madam Malkins that Harry had ran into.

“Better Gryffindor than Slytherin!” Ron nearly shouted, “Aint’ no witch or wizard that went wrong that weren’t in Slytherin.”

 _“Is that true?”_ Harry asked, panicking now. Harry’s likely first friend was lining out his own prejudices. _“Are all Slytherin’s evil?”_

 _“Do you think I am evil?”_ Severus’ voice asked softly. _“I’m a Slytherin, Head of House, even. Do you think I am evil?”_

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, wondering about Ron’s fervent words against Slytherins.

 _“Would you be happy if I were a Slytherin?”_ Harry asked, Ron came back to Harry’s side as Professor McGonagall came back out, eyeing off the boys. _“What were my parents?”_

_“Gryffindor, each of them. Your father’s family have always been Gryffindor I believe. But I would be proud of you in any house. A house is your family. It does not mean you are evil or good. Simply, a better fit in one house than the next.”_

The doors opened then. Harry lost his line of thought to the, admittedly, beautiful vaulted ceilings. Charmed, he was sure, to look like outside, reflecting the sky as it was now. Bats fluttered about the candles floating in the air. Harry was so busy looking up, he almost ran into the students stopping in front of him. But he kept glancing up, entirely taken in by the ceiling, the details on the walls.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, first-years. Now gather ‘round, and wait for your name to be called, where you will come up, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and be sorted into your houses.” McGonagall’s gentle brogue tore Harry’s attention from the ceiling. Instead of landing on her very beautiful, full emerald green robes and matching velvet hat, Harry’s eyes gravitated to a pair of deep, dark eyes behind her.

Sitting at the high table, was the man that Harry had thought he’d only dreamed of meeting. Despite being told of certain things about the wizarding world that turned out to be true, Harry still had thought, until this very moment, that he’d imagined it all.

Immediately, tears sprung to his eyes, his breath increased and a smile so wide his face should be split, spread on his face.

“Remember,” McGonagall called out. “Your house will be like your home, your housemates, your family. You can earn points for your houses through academic achievement, but any rule breaking, and you will lose points.”

Harry very nearly dismissed her short speech in favor of taking in the man only a few feet from him. Severus Snape, still dressed in black, hair the same length, he thought he never remembered the few wrinkles spread across his face. His glare was ever present and nearly exactly as he remembered. Harry’s heartbeat quickened the longer he stared at Severus who was taking him in as well.

Severus watched the gaggle of first years walk into the Great Hall. It’s the first time he’d be seeing Harry since finding him on that bench six years ago. Eyes searched for the little mop of hair, bright green eyes, and an awestruck face. It didn’t take long, and when he caught sight, Severus had to hold his breath. He was far too skinny, smaller looking than the rest of his peers, and he had thick rimmed glasses sat precariously on his nose.

Frowning, Severus tried recalling if Harry had ever complained about his vision. Or even when he’d received the glasses. There was even the slight yellowing of the boys’ skin, some form of malnutrition. How had he missed that? Had Harry ever said anything about it? Maybe he had a dietary need not being met. Either way, Severus would have to put a bug in Dumbledore’s ear to get the boy checked.

When Harry’s green eyes landed on Severus, the man found himself wondering what was going through the boy’s mind. Tears sprung up on the boy’s face, a smile breaking the awe taking in his new surroundings. The boy was beautiful, precious, and Severus could easily agree with himself that he’d do anything to protect that look for as long as he could.

 _“Severus! It’s you!”_ Harry nearly shouted his excitement. Severus tried not betraying the look on his face, needing to set an example for his new snakes. _“I can’t believe it. I’m finally here.”_

 _“Yes,”_ Severus agreed, _“you certainly made it, Harry. And what do you think about your new school?”_

 _“Too early to tell, isn’t it?”_ Harry rubbed at his face when a young redhead, likely a Weasley, elbowed him and looked concerned. Harry shook his head to whatever the boy said and smiled again.

“Potter, Harry.” McGonagall called out. The pronouncement surprised Severus, he hadn’t realized how quickly the list of students’ had gone by.

Hesitantly, Harry made his way up the stairs, looking around the room full of whispering students. Severus thought Harry conducted himself well, considering he hadn’t been fully exposed to the sycophants of his fame until very recently.

Harry took a seat on the low stool, robe’s getting caught under his foot. The boy fumbled and Severus forgot to guard his emotions and smiled when Harry fussed with his robes. _Too used to muggle clothes._ The Sorting Hat was placed gently on his head. It had turned into a waiting game. Though Severus wouldn’t have been able to know it would take nearly ten minutes until the Hat began to stir, all the while Harry fidgeted. McGonagall turned back towards Dumbledore just as the Hat opened its mouth.

“SLYTHERIN!”

The entire hall was silent, Harry was still sitting on the stool. Severus’ heart stopped at the pronouncement. The Boy Who Lived, a Slytherin. Wont the world love that.

Soon, the Slytherin table erupted into applause and cheers, whistles and hollers. When the Hat was taken off Harry spun around and looked directly into Severus’ eyes.

“WE GOT POTTER! WE GOT POTTER!” The entire Slytherin table erupted and stood out on their seats. Pure-bloods and aristocratic girls and boys celebrating their phenomenal win of the most important person in modern history.

 _“Did I do good?”_ Harry sounded worried, bordering on hysteria.

 _“You did as excellently as you knew how. And Slytherin has gained another,_ good _student.”_ Severus applauded with his house, three other tables of students staring gob smacked as Harry made his way to the table. _“If you’re so worried about if people will see you as a bad wizard, Harry, then you’ll have to show them there is more to being a Slytherin than to be evil.”_

That seemed to calm Harry for a moment. The boy was enveloped by his new classmates, handshakes and well wishes. The rest of the school already giving him dirty looks. Harry smiled when he needed to, paid attention to the conversations around him as they ate. Severus was worried about how quickly the boy was eating. Given his stature, maybe he was nervous eating.

The rest of the night went about as well as it always had. Announcements were made, some ground rules were lain, and the schools’ song was bellowed out in a cacophony. As usual, the Weasley twins singing to a slow, death march.

“First year’s, please follow your Prefects to your dorms. And have a sweet and good night.” Dumbledore bade the congregation before turning on Severus sharply. “Keep an eye on him. He shouldn’t have been in that house.”

“Careful, Headmaster,” Severus couldn’t hold his tongue. After hearing Harry’s nerves about becoming a Slytherin, Severus couldn’t stand to hear anyone berate the choice of the Sorting Hat. “It’s going to sound as if you favor one house over the other. Potter will be secure in my house. The Sorting Hat does not make mistakes, as you’ve always reminded students.”

Dumbledore kept eye contact a few beats longer than Severus was used to, but the night was growing longer, and Severus was itching to catch up to his… his… student. He bid goodnight to Dumbledore and a few other professors before leaving the Great Hall through the main entrance. He only hoped he wasn’t too late in taking Harry to the side. To bolster the boy. Or counsel him. Whichever he needed.

“…I don’t think it’s a bad thing, Ron.” Harry’s voice echoed within the corridors. There was a gathering of students from different houses surrounding the younger Mister Weasley and Harry. Severus’ blood began to boil. Harassing a student before the first few hours of arriving to Hogwarts. How dare that prejudiced, little…

“Well, let’s make a bet, then.” Ron held out his hand, if Severus looked a little harder, he could tell that the smirk on the Gryffindor’s face was one of secrets shared rather than one of malice. “Three-hundred chocolate frogs that you can’t change my mind about Slytherins before we graduate.”

“Deal, Ron.” Harry shook the other boys’ hand, grip tight. “I’ll add that I’ll never become a dark wizard, either.”

Weasley actually began chuckling. Not a forced or fearful chuckle, but a full, deep chuckle of laughter. Harry smiled wider, likely knowing that he may just be able to keep his new friend.

“What,” Severus thought it time to interrupt, not really sure what the exchange was beforehand. The student’s gathered around jumped, some nearly out of their skins. Mister’s Longbottom, Finnigan, and Malfoy nearly falling over themselves. Draco was the surprise here, standing directly behind Harry, as if in support. “Is going on here? I do hope it isn’t making wagers in front of a teacher. As gambling is illegal for-“

“Don’t worry, _Professor_ ,” Harry’s cheeky face turned towards Severus, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Isn’t it only illegal if there’s an exchange of money? Sweets are perfectly legal.”

The brat had the audacity to, firstly, interrupt Severus, but then to wink at the man. Pride swelled up in Severus so strongly he felt like he was going to burst. The Sorting Hat truly never made mistakes.

“To your dorm’s, immediately. I don’t want to hear another word again about this. Mister Weasley, shouldn’t you be collecting your band of miscreants and herding them to their little pens?”

 _“Harsh, Sev.”_ Harry’s voice bounced in Severus’ head gleefully. Severus tried to ignore the remark.

“Yessir, my apologies.” Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor Prefect, began calling to the first years, though barely anyone budged. Ron rolled his eyes at his brother but turned on his heel. But not before giving Harry another bemused look.

“Potter, follow me. It seems you need a firmer grasp of the rules than is typically necessary.” Severus spun on his heel, robes fluttering dramatically. He couldn’t tell if Harry had been following him, that is until the boy cursed on the uneven stones as they made their winding way down to the dungeons. Severus navigating the uneven stones in rigid familiarity. At his office door, he pressed the door open and waited impatiently for Harry to enter. He was not expecting small arms to wrap around him as soon as the door clicked shut.

“You’re here.” Harry’s voice was muffled by the man’s robes. “You’re really here.”

Severus felt the arms grip tighter around his waist, Harry’s little body shaking with relief.

“Pot-Harry, look at me.” Severus said softly. The boy was still shaking by the time he withdrew from Severus’ pool of clothing, wet streaks of tears coating his cheeks. “Oh, my boy. Of course, I’m here.” Severus knelt down, accepting Harry’s hug more easily. “I’m glad you made it here safely. And I am so proud of you.”

Large hands pet Harry’s head as the boy began weeping. Severus began getting nervous, if Harry won’t stop soon, the rest of the Slytherin’s will begin to worry what they’d been doing alone in his office.

“I’m a Slytherin, that’s good, right?” Harry mumbled into Severus’ hair. The boy kept sniffing, likely trying to get his emotions together. “You smell just like I remember.”

Severus had the decency to blush. A young boy in his arms, with no chaperone, things could very easily be taken out of context if they’d ever been interrupted. But the still shaking boy clutching tightly to Severus needed more reassurances.

“I’m proud of you, Harry, just as I said I would be.” Severus tried pulling Harry from him, small hands gripping his robes tightly. One hand came up to wipe away Harry’s tears, the glasses nearly being knocked askew in the process. “I’ll be honest, many people have been hoping you would be Gryffindor, or any other house than mine.”

“But I chose this one, because it is yours.” Harry interrupted. Severus couldn’t find it in him to care. “The Hat gave me a choice, and I made one. I want to show everyone that being a Slytherin doesn’t make a person bad. And I don’t want you being alone.”

Harry’s head ducked, blushing with embarrassment. Severus wondered what Harry meant. But they couldn’t talk about it now. Severus was due to give a speech to his first years, consoling and ensuring that his little snakes would find their friends easily in these hard, transitioning times.

“Oh, Harry,” Severus heard himself tutting like any proud parent. “I don’t need your protection from the world, I’ve made it this long.” A hand came up to lift Harry’s chin gently, pulling the boys’ attention to him rather than the multitude of buttons on his chest. “But the thought is greatly appreciated, my boy.”

The smile that broke out onto Harry’s face filled up all the dark places in Severus. Harry was the first child that Severus had ever felt this close to. His godson, Draco, being a close second. And he’d been equally proud of his boys. He only hoped he would have the strength to hide their innocence from the world for as long as he could. For if the rumors of the Death Eaters congregating once again is true, then both his boys could be in trouble.

“Now, Harry, we need to set some boundaries.” Severus pulled Harry’s hands from his person completely, then taking a generous step back. The boy tracked his every movement with great care. “I am your teacher, and as such, your protection and safety are my primary concerns. You will not be allowed into my rooms with me, nor will you be left alone with me for extended hours like any student of mine. You will follow the rules and address me as your professor. Is that clear?”

Harry seemed to almost fold in on himself, arms going around his midsection, covering his stomach. Severus’ heart dropped at the action. He’d seen students react this way plenty of times. Mostly those coming from abusive households. But Harry would have said something. He always told Severus when Dudley and he would get in an argument. Or when Harry would get in trouble at school. Would he not have told Severus if he were suffering under Petunia and her husband?

“Yes, sir.” Harry nodded, nearly looking defeated. “Does that mean I have to stop talking to you? In my head?”

If Severus’ heart dropped before, it certainly shattered upon seeing the boys’ look. Lost, scared, and very lonely. Severus’ morals warred with itself. He should be keeping a distance from the boy. Should have been from the very start. He wasn’t sure why he gave Harry the opportunity to reach out the way he had. There was no reasoning for it. Only some form of instinct driving him.

“We may continue. But as school has started, I will need you to pay attention to your classes and friends, not calling upon me simply for distraction.” Severus felt like he should be saying more on the issue. Being a Slytherin, with very chivalrous tendencies, Harry would soon find a loophole. “And you will not distract me from teaching. Am I clear?”

Harry nodded, face lightening up. Though he was still hugging himself.

“Are you okay?” Severus nodded to where Harry was cradling his stomach.

“I think I ate too much.”

The first day of classes seemed rushed. Harry thought it was because he hadn’t gotten the right amount of sleep. When he had woken up that first day his dorm mates were gone. Harry had no idea how any Slytherin could wake up on time without an alarm clock. And he had no way of bringing one from home, seeing as he didn’t own one.

Harry had found his class schedule on his trunk and tore off for the first class of the day. Charms with Professor Flitwick. The rest of his classmates chuckled when Harry came in late. He took his time to glare meaningfully at Malfoy and his fog-headed companions. Crabbe and Goyle laughed the loudest up until Flitwick took five points for Harry being late.

“His dorm mates should have ensured he made it to his first day of classes.” The Professor explained. The only seat left was next to Blaise Zabini, who looked at Harry with a level of boredom one gives a scurrying ant.

His next two classes went so much better. Transfiguration then History of Magic. Both of which Harry realized he was going to be miserable in. He tried not being too impressed with any of the magic that he’d witnessed. Mostly because after the first few charms performed by Professor Flitwick, Blaise had said that he was acting like a Muggle. To which, Harry reminded Blaise he was raised by Muggles, so it was the same thing.

Harry made it to lunch and felt exhausted already.

“I can’t believe they won’t let us perform magic yet.” He heard one of the Gryffindors cry about it loudly. Harry thought the boys’ name was Finnigan or something. Harry couldn’t help but agree. He wished that he could be brandishing his wand like the older years, but he figured there may be a reason for it. Accidents, as each Professor has been insistent at reminding everyone on, can happen with disastrous and sometimes fatal effects.

“Potter.” Blaise caught Harry’s attention as he walked down the aisles of the tables. Harry smiled and came up to sit next to the taller boy. “Glad you made it. How are you handling everything so far?”

It was the most anyone had said to Harry today. He’d only caught glimpses of Ron in the halls but was too far away to be seen. Harry tried not to squirm in his seat when Blaise kept his attention on Harry.

“It’s a little mad.” Harry spooned on some food and really took a look at the spread today. He had to remind himself not to eat too much again. “I don’t think I’m going to like History of Magic.”

“I do not believe anyone will.” Blaise agreed. His voice was smooth and had a specific lilt that Harry couldn’t place. Though, now that he was listening to every other pure-blooded classmate, he could tell it might just be a high-born thing.

The conversation died out naturally. A painless death while Harry tried not to shovel food into his mouth so quickly. It seemed crass, sitting next to an obviously tutelage classmate. But considering he’d never been trained in such skills he would always look like a rabid Muggle. Especially since he had no better of a time controlling what his hair was doing. He caught himself looking up to find Severus more than half a dozen times. The man wasn’t there. Harry wondered if he was prepping for their class.

“Would you like to join me in Potions? I believe we will be having partners.” Blaise asked as they stood from the table. Harry nodded while he tried washing down a bread roll with a gulp of pumpkin juice. “We have doubles with Gryffindor. I was not sure if you would prefer to sit with one of them.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, but allowed himself to find Ron’s fiery hair. “If Slytherin’s are family, I’d better start getting to know them all.”

Blaise was silent the rest of the way to Potions. Ron caught up with them and began trying to engage in conversation with Harry. It was stilted and awkward. But Harry remembered to introduce Blaise to Ron. Harry was happy to note that Blaise didn’t seem to be put off with shaking hands with a Gryffindor.

“I’d ask to sit with you two. But Neville and Seamus already asked. So, sorry.” Ron ducked his head in apology. Harry only smiled.

“It’s fine. Blaise and I are going to be partners today.” Harry followed Blaise to a seat. Off to the left and in the middle row. Harry desperately wanted to be in the front and center. He was nervous for his first class with Severus. “ _Please take it easy on me!”_

Harry never got a reply back but didn’t have to wait long for Severus to come swooping into the classroom. The door banged shut behind him. Harry jumped and flailed in his seat. Heart rate picking up.

“There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class.” Severus came to the front of the class. “As such, I don’t expect many of you to flourish in this class. Many of you who have the predisposition,” Harry’s stomach fluttered when Severus locked eyes with him. “may have the upper-hand in succeeding.”

Severus began a listing of many of the potions Harry had barely heard about. Or, rather, which potions would bring on fame, glory, and stalling death. Harry tried desperately to remember which potions went to which result.

“Some of you will not last if you can not pay attention.” Severus’ voice rose, Harry’s palms began to itch with perspiration. He didn’t know that Severus could be this acidic. Not once had Severus shown Harry anything more than care and some measure of love.

“ _Sev,_ ” Harry gripped the pocket watch tightly, fear pumping through his veins. _“Please.”_

Severus slowed his pacing towards Neville Longbottom. Who was just as petrified in his seat. Harry noted the stark fear on the other boys’ face. Harry was able to witness exactly how talented Severus was with mind magic – as Harry called it.

 _“What’s wrong?”_ came at the same time as Severus physically spoke. “I would appreciate your attention in this class, Mister Longbottom. Quill down.”

 _“Stop being so mean._ ” Harry begged. He couldn’t drag his eyes up to see Severus’ reaction. Which was nothing more than a stern and quiet dismissal of Longbottom’s note taking and started up his lecture. _“There’s no reason to bully a kid.”_

Severus was mentally silent after the chastisement. He continued with his lecture, going over the properties of the baser ingredients and how most will be primary in potion making. Harry partially paid attention, as he’d already heard this lecture. He couldn’t take the enjoyment of physically hearing Severus’ voice instruct his students. Mostly because his tone was banal and stony. Harry didn’t like this version of his Severus.

Harry decided to continue doodling on his parchment even after the note-taking had completed for now. Severus had been going over the rules of conducting potion-making in the lab. Safety procedures and cautions towards hazardous material. It was a small rebellion. And a test. Harry wasn’t sure where this little act of academic suicide came from, but he enjoyed staring Severus down when the Professor noticed his doodling.

“Mister Potter,” Severus drew everyone’s attention. Harry had quickly noted how whenever his name was mentioned, all eyes would gravitate towards him. It wasn’t much different than when he was in primary school, as he was always getting in trouble for retaliating to Dudley’s classroom antics. So it was natural in ignoring the stares. “Is your note-taking insufficient enough that you would continue well after instructions has ended?”

“No, Professor,” Harry began uttering before he could stop himself. “I’m distracting myself until the next set of instructions.”

Severus’ lips tightened into a thin line, his nostrils widening in nearly controlled anger. Harry knew how much Severus disliked insolence. And something in Harry begged to come out just to balance whatever scales Harry had set up.

“As mentioned earlier to your classmate, your _full_ attention is warranted. Lack of care for caustic materials in this class will only lead to damage to your person. And I am loath to repeat myself.” Severus seemed to be measuring his breath. Harry knew he shouldn’t egg the man on, but Harry felt Severus deserved it for nearly verbally attacking a student. A _child_.

“I’ll repeat it all for you, if you’d like, Professor.” Harry broke eye contact and dipped his quill to continue doodling. Blaise inhaled sharply beside him while Draco began sniggering lightly behind him. Harry ignored the both of them. “Avoid skin contact by wearing appropriate protective gear. Always protect your face and eyes. Avoid breathing corrosive vapors, fumes –“

“Enough, Mister Potter.” Severus’ teeth ground nearly to dust. Harry tried imagining the color of Severus’ face. Would it be purple like Vernons? Or red in the cheeks and chest like Petunia. “I have no need for your back talk. Another outburst like that and you will have points taken away from your house.”

Blaise elbowed Harry in the side, trying to catch his eyes by leaning towards Harry. He ignored the boy and turned his eyes up to the man.

“If I don’t answer your questions, I’m sure I’d be in even more trouble.” Harry slouched, really pouring it on. “Dictating every action when not brewing isn’t helpful to the student in learning rote materials. I apologize for interrupting the class with my doodling.”

Harry felt a swell of cold pride in seeing Severus’ jaw tick, his lips were tightly pursed. Harry didn’t drop his eyes, challenging his Severus to continue as a tyrant.

“As I have no idea if my words are sticking to the last two brain cells you’ve obviously been neglecting, short of adhering reminders to your hand, your safety and livelihood are my primary concerns. Without being able to read your mind, I have no idea what is going on in that empty skull of yours. Do attempt to pay attention.” Severus turned from Harry. Sharp words stung differently than fist or belt. Harry’s chest constricted painfully, his breath coming in short gasps.

The only thing Harry was happy for was the lack of tears. He didn’t need to let Severus know that he’d been affected by the man’s cruel words. He threw down his quill, residual ink flying around he and Blaise, and sat up as prim and proper as he knew how. Eyes never wavering from Severus’ person.

Potions crawled by after that, more instructions and proper cauldron care after brewing blended in with Harry’s circular and dark thoughts.

Why the hell was Severus acting like this? Why show Harry one side of himself only to reveal his true personality in the end? Maybe Harry had been groomed to hang on the man’s every word. Maybe Harry never really knew the man at all.

He ignored the slight headache that was building up. His stress and anger had never given him a headache before, but Hogwarts was a completely different environment from primary school or the Dursleys’ household.

By the end of class, Harry’s back was stiff and sore, his core felt as if it had turned to ice. He didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like arguing with the man with whom he’d gotten to know so well. Obviously, though, not as well as he could have. Severus was a cold, mean, and monstrous person. No matter how many times Harry’s brain tried to remind him the many nights Severus lulled him to sleep with stories after a bad day compliments of Vernon Dursley, or after a nightmare. Or how patiently and lovingly Severus had guided Harry through breathing techniques and mental strength.

Things packed away; Harry kept his head down as he filed behind the rest of the class to leave. Before he could make it very far, Severus called for him to remain behind. Ron and Blaise gave him a curious look. Harry waved them away and he huffed and tried his best not to pout.

“Mister Potter,” Severus attempted to gain Harry’s forlorn attention. Sighing, he tried again, this time softer. “Harry.”

“Oh, now you’re being nice!” Harry snapped, eyes still staring at the grain of wood in front of him. “You’re a cold-hearted bastard. You know that?” Harry finally looked up and was surprised to see Severus’ face broke into confusion and something else Harry couldn’t name. “You made me to like you, made me think you’re a good person when you’re nothing but a petty dictator.”

“Enough, Harry, please.” Severus sat down on one of the stools, a table between them. It sat in front of where Harry was standing, the man looked defeated. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent my entire career – I have never – I’m sorry.”

Harry picked at the seam of his robes, threads still new and strong. But it was beginning to be a common practice for Harry. Maybe his robes would be in complete tatters by the end of term. Sniffing, Harry tried ignoring the clenching of his heart, the ache in his throat, and the sting in his eyes.

“Why do you have to be so mean?” Harry asked, voice small even to his own ears. “You said you weren’t evil, so why are you being a bully to children?”

Severus had no words. His actions inexcusable. But this was how he’d always been, how he’d always taught.

“Potion-making is a difficult practice. One must be ever cautious and attentive to every move they make. A single misstep could be disastrous.”

“Then why make so many students afraid of you? Shaky nerves and twitchy hands can’t be any more dangerous than not paying attention.” Harry’s voice grew stronger. He had spent so long under a house of bullies. Hell, he’d almost been raped by his own uncle. _Don’t think about that, don’t think about that. Sev can’t know._ “I don’t like this side of you. I don’t like it.”

“Harry,” Severus came around the potion station. He squatted down to be less than eye-level with Harry. “It’s how I’ve always been. If I break my character now, I shall never gain respect from the student body.”

“You can try being nice.” Harry crossed his arms. “Just like I’m trying to prove being Slytherin doesn’t make you evil. Uphill battle, starting with you.”

The challenge was set. But would Severus take the bait? It was pure manipulation and the both of them knew it. Blame something else, someone else. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

Onyx eyes searched Harry’s, eyebrows drawn up in concern, mouth twisting unpleasantly. Harry counted to twenty before Severus stood up and opened his arms. Harry wasted no time in diving into the embrace. Strong arms secured around his shattered body. He hadn’t realized how fractured he’d been until Severus was holding the pieces together.

“I’ll try, my boy.” Severus leaned down, pressing his mouth into Harry’s hair. Harry dug deeper into the robes, nearly disappearing in the mass of it. “For you, I’ll try. Don’t think I didn’t see you jumping when my voice began to raise. We’ll be talking about that later.”

“Why?” Harry looked up, his face near enough to Severus’ that Harry could map his wrinkles and count his eyelashes. It was incredibly intimate, but every kind of attention that Harry was begging for. “So I’m jumpy.”

“I’m worried about you, my boy.” Severus pulled back, looking down on Harry in full view. Severus’ conscience couldn’t ignore his instincts. Lack of significant weight, eating to sickness, not to mention Severus had caught Harry tucking toast and pieces of bacon in his robes, wrapped carefully in a napkin at breakfast. Add the fact that Harry was jumpy during his class and calling Severus a bully was very nearly telling. “I don’t believe you’ve been honest with me these few years. But we must talk later. I do believe your friends are waiting for you.”

“They wouldn’t be waiting for me.” Harry muttered. He grabbed his bag and wiped away his dry tears. Severus found his hand was gently tangled in Harry’s hair, petting the boy in consolidation.

“We’ll see.” Severus kissed the top of Harry’s head one more time and shooed the boy towards the door. He smiled indulgently when Harry opened the door and found Blaise and Ron staying back, waiting for Harry.

Severus sighed heavily and waited for the next class to arrive. He had a feeling that he would be tested later today. He chuckled. That boy was meant to be in Slytherin. Albus be damned.

The next few weeks flew by. Severus had kept his promise that he would try to stop being so aggressive. The man knew he was losing his touch if the commands of a single boy could make him bow. Regardless how much he cared for him.

It was a curious relationship the two of them had. Not friends. Not father and son. Not guardian and ward. It was an odd sort of pairing. Harry meant so much to Severus that it scared him to recognize the importance of that flop of dark hair and the brilliance of mischievous green eyes. Severus lived for the smile on Harry that grew brighter and spread in more honesty than the first night.

Harry had kept his original promise and only reserved his mental contact with Severus when he had questions on his homework. Which wasn’t limited to potions. Severus took his time explaining, helping where he could and pushing Harry towards his studies when he felt the boy was exploiting his help. More times than not, Harry had taken to talking in his head, not directed towards himself, more like sharing with Severus. Harry got a kick out of that.

 _“You should be asleep by now, brat.”_ Severus sounded annoyed. Harry smiled in the darkness of his dorm. A subtle light illuminating in place of starlight. Harry liked those kinds of touches, especially down in the dungeons.

_“I’m too excited. We start flying lessons tomorrow. Do you think I’ll be any good?"_

_“If you’re anything like your father, you will be excellent.”_ Severus answered immediately and squelched the insecurities in Harry’s heart. He blushed at the praise of something he hadn’t even done yet.

 _“Would you help me pick out my first broom during break? I want to have one, even if I can’t fly it at the Dursleys.”_ Harry turned in his bed, flopping on his side and sighing loudly. He’d give anything to simply be in the man’s presence. Laying in his own separate bed with the door open while he listened to the scratching of quill on parchment while Severus marked grades. He wished there could be days where they could explore more wizarding communities. See what was beyond the Dursleys and Hogwarts.

 _“Speaking of the Dursleys,”_ Severus sounded as if his focus had sharpened. Which was never a good thing. Harry thought about dropping the pocket mirror and cutting the man off. But he hadn’t, he kept listening. _“Harry, tell me honestly, have you been getting proper nutrition at the Dursleys? Have they ever withheld food from you?”_

What could Harry say to that? Severus didn’t like when Harry lied. Didn’t like when Harry avoided the tougher topics. Biting his lip, Harry considered his options. Answer now and not see the pained expression on Severus’ face, or avoid the questions for as long as he could before he was cornered and forced to answer. Maybe he could feign tiredness now and avoid Severus.

 _“I, erm, please don’t get mad.”_ Harry tried getting the man to promise. He knew that Severus would never be angry at Harry unless it was truly warranted. But it was the man’s anger in general that would set Harry on edge. _“If I was bad, or broke a rule, they would send me to bed without any food.”_

 _“How often would that happen? And did you ever actually do anything to incur a punishment?”_ Severus cut right to the quick, didn’t he?

 _“Often enough that you’ve begun to notice. And, what child is going to admit they’d done anything wrong to get punished?”_ Harry bit back. He tried not answering in anger. He tried reminding himself that Severus was only worried about him.

_“I would surmise that you’ve been routinely starved. I believe that an honest boy would tell me the truth.”_

Well, damn. Harry really didn’t want to lie. Severus was a better Slytherin than Harry was at the present time. Add to it that Harry was tired and ready to attempt sleep and Severus had him at a disadvantage.

_“Maybe once or twice a month. You already know I talk back, sometimes I can’t help it.”_

_“Oh, Harry,”_ Severus’ voice sounded as if he were mourning. It broke Harry’s heart. _“Have they physically hurt you? Done something you know they shouldn’t?”_

Harry dropped the pocket mirror then. He dug into his trunk and fount a rolled-up pair of socks that were moth eaten and a little smelly. Harry stuffed the pocket mirror in the socks and threw himself on the bed. Sometimes Harry wished that he could cry. But he hadn’t since he was six. Not even when Arthur the Dragon had been torn in half by Dudley. Though Harry’s wild magic stitched the plush back up seamlessly, it was the most hurtful thing that could have ever happened to Harry at the time. Yet, no tears.

“Harry, you alright?” Blaise was sitting up in his bed, next to Harry. He and Draco had switched second week of school.

“I’m fine. Bad dream.” Harry muttered, trying to roll himself into a ball. He wished that Blaise would just ignore him and go back to sleep. “Sorry if I woke you, Blaise.”

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Draco chimed in. Harry would have felt some sort of vindication at the incredibly tired and annoyed sound in Draco’s voice.

“Harry’s had a bad dream.” Blaise answered before Harry could tell Draco to piss off.

There was a long stretch of silence until a drawer had opened somewhere and feet slapped on the cold flagstone. Draco was cursing the cold.

“Drink a bit of this. It’ll help.” Draco offered in the dark. Harry was skeptical at the offer. “It’s called Dreamless Sleep. We – we all get nightmares, too.” Draco said cryptically.

“Cheers.” Harry realized after a bit that Draco wasn’t going to budge and took the small glass bottle. He took a sip, as instructed by Draco and Blaise.

“Uncle Sev – er, Professor Snape brews it. He’s my Godfather, did you know? Best Potions Master in Britain.” Draco’s voice held a bit of pride. Though Harry wanted to cough the liquid back up. Seems he couldn’t escape Severus tonight.

“Best in Europe, actually.” Harry muttered under his breath. He remembered one winter night a couple years ago when Severus had shared with Harry the achievement award. Severus had been so happy. It was one of the reasons why Harry had begun to trust the man. To begin to realize he loved talking with him, to feel the pure devotion to Harry.

“What was that?” Draco asked, re-corking the bottle.

“Nothing. Thanks, Draco.”

They all eventually went back to sleep. But not before Blaise assured Harry that he would listen if Harry had another nightmare. Harry wanted to laugh. Because now he had at least three people who cared for him. Ron had said something about how happy he was that Harry was gaining some weight, that color was coming to him since his first day at school. It was unusual to have someone that was actually concerned for him.

Harry fell asleep to the gentle waves of unconsciousness.

The next morning proved that a solidarity in the dark didn’t survive in the light of day. Draco was just as much of a prat as he usually was to Harry. Blaise had tried to defend Harry, but it had been futile. Harry would run his mouth off back at Draco and they would nearly come to blows.

Breakfast was tense, the whole table eyeing off Draco and Harry. Severus swore he saw a couple of bets being placed whilst looking at the duo.

Whatever had happened that had gotten to Harry last night was still a mystery. Severus wanted to drag Harry into his office and ask him directly. The boy wouldn’t be able to escape him then. But it would be inappropriate. Surely, if Severus were constantly caught in a room alone with Harry. Instead, Severus kept attempting to gain Harry’s attention, kept up a mental litany of _I’m sorry, please forgive my intrusion._

It wasn’t until Harry’s first flying lesson that things begun to get out of control. Draco and Harry were arguing, as they have been since day one, with Harry sticking up for his Gryffindor friends. A wild chase and crazy dive towards the ground on broomsticks certainly caught Severus’ eyes when he and Minerva were taking a walk. Madam Hooch was nowhere to be seen, and when Severus saw Harry make a crazy, death defying dive, Severus nearly fainted.

“POTTER!” Severus was marching across the lawn, heels digging in as he drew closer. Heart beating loudly in his chest making its way to his throat, fear gave way to anger. “WHAT IN SALAZAR’S NAME WERE YOU DOING? YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE FLYING WITHOUT MADAM HOOCH PRESENT. Give me that!” Severus grabbed Harry’s broom, a school broom, and glared at the boy. Harry, for his part, never wavered. The boy met Severus’ eyes firmly, not flinching when Severus was waving his arms in the air, gesticulating his annoyance, and fear. Severus’ anger rose higher. “Care to enlighten me as to why you thought it a grand idea to be flying through the air? You could have fallen. You could have been injured. What exactly were you doing up there that was important enough to disregard school rules?”

“Finished?” Harry asked, clear as day. Severus was put back on his heels at the firm, grating voice of his student. “Or should I wait until you have no more to ask, Professor?”

“How dare you.” Severus tried thinking of something to say that wouldn’t hurt his boy. Wouldn’t hurt Harry. He’d obviously done enough damage from last night. Maybe this was Harry rebelling. Perhaps this was retribution for Severus getting too involved in a child’s privacy. Not like the presence of the pocket mirror were any guard against blowing Severus’ ethics to pieces. Harry was red-faced by the time he opened his mouth.

“Only that, Draco had stolen something from Longbottom. I asked Draco to give it back and he took to the air with it. I followed, and when Draco threw it, I went after it.”

“You’ve had no flying lessons before this. You could have been-“

“I knew what I was doing!” Harry interrupted. The boy had grown a nasty habit of doing so. Severus would have to curb it soon unless he wanted the entire student body thinking they could take such liberties that he obviously afforded his almost son. Asking for a curb in attitude was one thing. Blatantly disrespecting a teacher was different.

“Liar.” Severus drew out. There was no way that Harry knew what he was doing on a broom. Even if he had a toy broom when his parents were alive, it was far too long ago for Harry to have been able to expertly maneuver the way he had. Severus would have said more, but the tears breaking over Harry’s eyelashes stopped him.

“Say that. Again.” Harry dared. His voice was cracking with emotions, holding the darkest pitch Severus had ever heard from Harry. “Say it.”

“You have no experience.” Severus wasn’t going to be cowed by this boy.

“SAY IT AGAIN!” Harry shouted, belted at the top of his lungs. The broom handle in Severus’ hand shattered, as did a few nearby brooms in students’ hands. Everyone shouted, stepping back from where Harry and Severus had begun their showdown.

“I will not. You need to show respect to your teachers.” Severus ground out. He was the adult here. He should be the one in control. But Harry’s wild magic quickly gave the boy the upper hand. “Now take yourself to the Hospital Wing.” Severus’ voice calmed, though with much difficulty. He closed his eyes against the trickle of blood dripping from Harry’s cheek. He couldn’t stand to see the boy injured. “You’re bleeding.”

Severus turned on his heel and retreated. He could hear Harry’s sniff against his robes, likely wiping his face of tears or blood. There was a muttering of children behind him, whispers and low conversations.

As he made his way back towards Minerva, he realized that he was being scrutinized by the older witch.

“What of it?” Severus growled.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man.” Her voice just as firm as Harry’s was. “What happened?”

“Potter was defending another student. Which apparently took him to the blasted sky to risk his neck for a-a, I don’t even know what he’d been after.” Severus huffed, emotions finally lowering to a respectable level.

“That was some magnificent flying, Severus.” Minerva said evenly. Severus had to agree. The boy was agile, and, Severus didn’t want to admit out loud, in complete control of himself and the broom. Even when he was falling nearly one-hundred-fifty feet in the air was the boy never even scared. “It’s too bad first years can’t play quidditch. Your team hasn’t won in years.”

Now wasn’t there a thought.

Severus didn’t even have to avoid Harry to deny his acceptance to the house team. A few fourth and fifth years came to Severus, begging for Harry to get a waiver to play. Dumbledore was absolutely no help in those matters either. The gleam in the older mans’ eyes reflected his desire to see Harry succeed outside of academics.

“It would be good for him, my boy.” Dumbledore had said over tea the following afternoon. Eyeing Severus over the rim of his too sweet tea. “Let the boy have some fun. It’s been a while since your team has presented as competition since before Charlie Weasley.”

“And here I thought you wanted me to keep an eye on Potter.” Severus was careful to call Harry by his family name. He’d felt himself nearly slipping constantly. Especially when addressing Harry one-on-one.

He’d finally gave in and permitted a waiver for Harry. Dumbledore had given his ecstatic approval.

Day in and day out, Severus had to hear from everyone else just how talented Harry was as the Slytherin seeker. Practices were going well, then. Since the boy had joined the team, they’d been practicing every day to train Harry. Even Severus had to double take when the younger Weasley was giving Harry pointers, Miss Granger giving emphatic help with printed resources.

He wished he could hear it from the boy. Since that night Harry hadn’t talked to him through the pocket mirror. The loss weighed heavily on Severus. It wasn’t so much of an invasion of privacy if a teacher was concerned about a students’ home life, right? And Harry had been showing classic signs of abuse and neglect. It was hard for Severus to not see any longer.

Severus begrudgingly missed the constant badgering for help on homework. The little interruptions during potions class with a song or limerick. He missed feeling Harry’s tracing gaze during meals. The boy, now, was ignoring him. Very thoroughly, might he add. The lack of presence in Severus’ mind told him that Harry hadn’t even so much as touched the mirror in over two weeks.

So it was, that Severus decided to attempt to break their silence. A large package was placed on his bed by the time the detentions were over. He couldn’t contain his own excitement. The box did well to hide the shape of a broom, which was what Severus would need if he were to give Harry the gift before tomorrow morning’s game.

“Tiddly,” Severus called for his usual house-elf. His favorite, if he was being honest. When the creature arrived, Severus turned to him. “Would you mind placing this on Harry Potter’s bed. Be sure not to reveal who it’s from.”

“Of course, sir.” The little creature took the gift and skipped out of sight. If Severus wasn’t so sure, he’d think that the elf was just as excited to be handing over the gift.

Severus slept fitfully, dreaming about all sorts of scenarios where Harry fell from the sky and to his death. Or being blasted in the head by a bludger with teeth. When morning came, Severus was thinking of skipping the game altogether. But that same damnable instinct that gave the boy the pocket mirror sent him to the stands. Why, it was just last week when Longbottom had nearly fallen to his death during broom riding lessons. And the boy was in the stands! Rumors about a jinx had spread through the school.

Skipping breakfast, Severus decided to make his way towards the pitch. But just as he stepped out into the bright morning sun, he was joined by Quirrell.

“G-g-g-good m-m-morning, S-severus.” The squeaking voice grated on Severus’ nerves. He barely contained rolling his eyes when the man continued. “F-fine day for q-q-q-quidditch. H-h-hope your new s-s-s-seeker does well.”

“Yes,” Severus remembered the gift he’d given the boy, and recollected the tales of how Harry’s skills have been far and above any one seeker currently playing in the school. Not to mention that his skills on a broom rivaled that of even Charlie Weasley. As he’d heard. “Potter seems to be taking to the sky like any fledgling hawk. It will be nice if the boy could win us a house cup, this year.”

Quirrell chuckled nervously. Something that Severus could care to hear less of.

Annoyingly, the other professor followed Severus to a stand. Next to the Slytherin student stands, parents and staff members joined Severus and Quirrell in the higher booths. Soon enough, the teams came flying out, Madam Hooch also taking the field, quaffle firmly in her grip. Gryffindor’s team looked as beastly as ever with the twins cajoling and cat-calling up to Harry, who played opposite of some berk Severus couldn’t remember. His heart lifted when he saw that Harry was riding the Nimbus 2000 he’d bought the boy.

The game began, and Severus’ eyes were riveted to Harry. Though Severus hardly played as a child, he enjoyed the tactics of professional quidditch, and how it trickled down to Hogwarts students. He could see how Wood commanded his Gryffindor team well. They’d scored a fair amount of points before Marcus Flint began to lay on, ehem, his own tactics.

Bludgers were sent that berk Gryffindor’s way. Severus smirked. But as soon as one came too close to Harry, Severus felt his anger rising. The twins were far too talented as beaters to not effectively harass Harry.

“Ohh, another nasty play by Flint.” Lee Jordan announced as the game played before them all. “Hopefully Captain Wood has a plan to stop Slytherin’s seeker. Harry Potter has been scanning the area, Gryffindor’s own Travis Noland tailing Harry Potter closely. And with both having a Nimbus 2000, it will be interesting… Sorry Professor.”

Severus couldn’t hear what Minerva was saying to Jordan, but luckily, he didn’t have to rely on the commentary to see that Harry had spotted something. He stopped looking around, his sharp green eyes pinpointing somewhere near the Hufflepuff stands. And when Noland tore off towards the snitch first, Harry dove quickly, to fly beneath Noland like a shadow. Severus held his breath when Harry made a sharp turn that brought the bristles of his broom to collide with Noland, throwing the boy off course. The snitch flew away.

“Gryffindor’s seeker was just fouled by Potter. Though no one could see the subtlety that every Slytherin seems to have. And… of course professor. Noland takes to the sky again, avoiding the bludgers. Gryffindor scores! They lead Slytherin one-hundred-ninety to thirty.”

So, Harry knew not to go for the snitch just yet. Maybe Flint knew what he was doing after all, keeping Harry back.

“D-d-d-didn’t anyone n-n-notice Noland loose c-c-c-control of h-h-his broom?” Quirrell breathed in Severus’ ear.

“Foul, my arse.” One of the Slytherin players’ parents said. “Potter may have saved the boy’s life!”

Severus hadn’t been paying attention to that. He’d been more concerned with following Harry’s every movement. A dangerous thing, being distracted. Severus hadn’t made it this long as a spy by being easily distracted.

It was a while longer until Slytherin began catching up. Harry doing his best to feint and distract Noland, who was trailing behind Harry like a dog begging for scraps.

“Slytherin scores.” Jordan announced. “Two shots back to back. Still, trailing by one-hundred-ten points. AND THERE GOES POTTER!” Severus’ eyes tracked the boy’s every move. “IF POTTER GET’S THE SNITCH, THAT’LL END THE GAME! But it won’t give Slytherin the lead for long if- Oh! Foul by Fred Weasley! Harry Potter falls off his broom!”

“No!” Severus shouted. He hadn’t been sure if his voice was drowned out by the screams and booing around him. But he didn’t care. Harry was gripping onto his broom by his fingertips. Fred Weasley looking horrified after hitting a bludger to knock Harry off. Harry struggled for what seemed like minutes before the broom dropped in altitude. More screaming. But Severus might have been one of them.

Harry struggled to get himself up and on his broom. Noland chasing the snitch all the while. Jordan kept up the commentary, the quaffle being taken by Slytherin to score fifty more points as everyone watched. If any of the Slytherin teammates touch or assist Harry, they both would be disqualified for the rest of the game. If Gryffindor helps, they’d be fouled. It was literally all up to Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typically write a little detail oriented with not enough emotion, in my opinion. Please comment what you think of this fic? It’s my first one I’ve finished (it being a series aside) and want to know if I might have rushed it.


	3. Deception or Protection?

“Slytherin scores.” Jordan announced. “Two shots back to back. Still, trailing by one-hundred-ten points. AND THERE GOES POTTER!” Severus’ eyes tracked the boy’s every move. “IF POTTER GET’S THE SNITCH, THAT’LL END THE GAME! But it won’t give Slytherin the lead for long if- Oh! Foul by Fred Weasley! Harry Potter falls off his broom!”

“No!” Severus shouted. He hadn’t been sure if his voice was drowned out by the screams and booing around him. But he didn’t care. Harry was gripping onto his broom by his fingertips. Fred Weasley looking horrified after hitting a bludger to knock Harry off. Harry struggled for what seemed like minutes before the broom dropped in altitude. More screaming. But Severus might have been one of them. 

Harry struggled to get himself up and on his broom. Noland chasing the snitch all the while. Jordan kept up the commentary, the quaffle being taken by Slytherin to score fifty more points as everyone watched. If any of the Slytherin teammates touch or assist Harry, they both would be disqualified for the rest of the game. If Gryffindor helps, they’d be fouled. It was literally all up to Harry. 

“Come on, come on!” Severus nearly shouted again. 

“Quiet!” Harry’s voice echoed in Severus’ head. “I’m fine.”

And before Severus could reply, Harry pulled himself up, swung a leg over the broom, and before he was even seated, he was gone. He tore off towards Noland, who was still chasing the snitch, and quickly caught up. Harry kept a hands width distance between them, pressing closer to his broom to gain more speed. Harry was smaller and lighter, able to reduce the drag on his broom.

Severus watched with bated breath as the Snitch took a sharp dive. Harry followed with precise turns, folding his body in to stay on his broom while he made that wicked turn. Noland took a wider turn but was drawing closer to Harry and the snitch in a gentle arc on his way down. Jordan was anxiously announcing every breath of their rapid descent. Severus never thought he’d be so close to passing out than when Noland angled away, abandoning his nosedive. The chase was still on with Harry, the boy’s feet hooked on top the edge of the broom handle near the bristles. His grip changed as he got his knees and elbows directly under him. The snitch changed direction again and flew right by Harry’s head, inches from the ground. Harry pulled with his hands and kicked with his feet and followed the snitch. 

The entire stadium gasped, screams and shouts following Harry’s movement. The game paused, everyone watching Harry and his death-defying act. Severus still couldn’t breathe. Harry was still chasing the snitch, right towards a wall. 

“QUIET!” Harry shouted in Severus’ mind again, just before he lost his balance, arm stretched out, grasping at air. Severus stood in his seat, trying to get a better look around other parents and staff standing. Harry had curled up, body skipping like a rock against the cushioned sand. 

The stadium was quiet, all eyes on Harry. So, it was very noticeable when Harry eventually stood, on shaking legs, and held a fluttering, golden ball in his hands above his head. It was the loudest in the stadium that Severus has ever remembered hearing. Even James Potter and his own death-defying stunts, soaring through the air, could not overcome the ear shattering applause to Harry. 

“HARRY’S ALRIGHT! Even if he caught the snitch for Slytherin. BUT HE’S ALRIGHT. HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!”

Leg’s feeling like jelly, Severus collapsed into his seat, nerves and emotions soaring higher than Harry had today. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. 

“Did I do good?” Harry’s insecure, smooth, young voice eased Severus’ frayed nerves. 

“You aren’t a dog, Harry.” Severus rubbed at his face, never in his life had he felt so scared for someone else. Was this what having a child is like? Watching them struggle, and fail, and succeed? Watching them overcome? Or was this something else? Something darker and not worth looking at. “Good boy.”

“Arf. Arf.” Came the joyful reply. Severus did laugh then. He wasn’t sure how Harry was able to speak to him if he wasn’t holding the pocket mirror. “Thanks for the broom.” Either way, he was happy that he could get some sort of confirmation that Harry was no longer mad at him. 

“I didn’t give it to you.”

“No, you bought it. But Tiddly gave it to me. And he’s your favorite house-elf.”

How Harry knew that, Severus didn’t know. But he was only glad that Harry hadn’t rebuffed the apology gift. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice cut into Severus’ thoughts. He looked up to see the old wizard looking down on him from the booth’s exit. Minerva glaring right behind him. Shit.

“How many years have you been talking to the boy?” Dumbledore asked, voice wavering and tense. 

Severus sat in a chair, as if on trial, with his partner in crime next to him. Harry sat in his own chair, ducking further and further in as Dumbledore’s voice got louder. Minerva was standing off to the side, acting as Deputy Headmistress rather than the beaten Head of House she was nearly an hour ago now. 

“Six years, Headmaster.” Severus spoke evenly. He’d be damned if he allowed Dumbledore to treat him like a common criminal. 

“He’s never done anything to me!” Harry sat up a bit straighter. “Why does it matter if he was talking to me?”

“Mister Potter,” Minerva redirected Harry and Severus’ attention. She seemed just as stern as she’d been when finding out that Severus was seeking retribution towards James Potter and his lot. After Lily had left his side. “He could have manipulated you into doing many things.”

“Manipulated me into Slytherin house, you mean?” Harry was finding his steel. Severus was proud. “Sev hadn’t done anything to me. He’s never done anything like that. Because of him, I knew that I could get into trouble if I left the Dursley’s house. He taught me to not trust every wizarding stranger that approached me. Before then, there were so many people that would want to shake my hand or drag me off. It was because of Sev that I knew how to use my wild magic to protect myself when I needed.”

Severus sat straighter. He was incredibly proud when Harry had learned to use his wild magic for defense. He was even prouder when Harry would call for help, asking what to do when a stranger grasped Harry by the hand and tried to drag him off the school’s playground. 

“And he hasn’t talked to you about joining Slytherin?” Dumbledore asked. 

“Albus,” Minerva looked at the headmaster sideways. Severus himself was puffed up with indignation. At least one of his friends were still standing up for him, even if he was on trial. 

“Harry, you’ll be resorted, you’ve obviously been coached into thinking like a Slytherin-“

“Maybe that’s because I’ve had the best Slytherin in my head the whole time!” Harry erupted, jumping out of his seat, not helping his cause. There were bottles and fragile trinkets that exploded. “You’d have nothing to say if I were in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Why does it have to be Slytherin? I’m happy where I am. I have friends who like me for me! Not because I’m in the same house as them. Ron, Hermione, Neville, they’re my friends just like Blaise and Draco. 

“And besides, wasn’t Merlin a Slytherin? And who accepted the Order of Merlin?”

Harry sat back, vindicated when Dumbledore sighed, seemingly defeated. Severus’s pride knew no bounds as he watched Harry begin to collect himself. Breathing deeply and slowly as Severus had taught him. 

“Headmaster,” Severus redirected, taking the attention off of Harry. “I have only acted out of duty by contacting Harry. He’d been sitting alone outside a shop while his family was inside. A five-year-old should not have been left alone. It was only by instinct that I decided to extend my assistance towards Harry. Which I’m glad to have given him. Elsewise Harry would have ended up on the side of a milk carton.”

Dumbledore didn’t seem to be enjoying this conversation. The meddling fool was likely upset that things weren’t going the way he’d been attempting to design. On top of everything, Neville Longbottom had been garnering some devious attention by unknown forces since the beginning of the school year. His parents had been frantic for his safety. 

“How,” Dumbledore placed a single finger on his desk, eyes twinkling in deep thought, “have you been keeping contact with him? I assume not by owl or house call.” 

Blast. Severus thought, of course the fool would pick up on that. 

“Through focused thought and a bit of Legillimens.” Severus gave his answer through gritted teeth. He could feel Harry’s worried look directed his way. 

“What is the object of focus,” Dumbledore was staring down the boy, “Harry?” 

“What should I do?” Harry asked quietly. Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed dangerously. By keeping eye contact with Harry, he could tell when his pupils dilated when Harry was talking with Severus in his mind. Severus cursed. “Sev?”

Dumbledore held out his hand expectantly towards Harry. Harry tried catching Severus’ eyes, to gauge his reaction. 

“Give it to him.” Severus conceded, stone-faced. “He’ll be getting it either way.” 

Severus could feel, rather than see, Harry’s face crumble. 

“Please.” Harry begun to beg. Severus decided he never wanted to hear this side of Harry ever again. “Please, it’s the only way… I don’t want to lose this.” 

“It’s for the best, Harry.” Dumbledore’s fingers were steady, but still outreaching with his authority. Severus’ heart broke when Harry begun to sob drily. If ever there was a time to standup to the meddling old man, it would be now. But he was right. It was inappropriate for a teacher to have a mental connection to their student. 

“I don’t want to lose him!” Harry shouted. The despair in Harry’s voice made Severus stand. Still keeping eye contact with Dumbledore, Severus took the short paces to stand in front of Harry. The boy had the brass pocket mirror clutched tightly against his chest, heaping sobs flooding out his pink mouth. “Sev, please.” 

“Harry,” Severus decided that they were already guilty of being closer than teacher and student. Might as well go for broke. Severus held up a potion stained hand and brought it up to Harry’s face, one last time. “My boy,” Severus whispered, gaining Harry’s quieter attention. Harry leaned into the touch on his cheek, a wracking sob breaking out at the contact. His green eyes were swimming in grief. This was the hardest thing Severus would ever have to do. “Let me see it. You won’t ever lose me. I’ll always be here.”

“But it won’t be the same!” Harry wept, getting closer to the edge of his seat. Severus thought he would pour his small body out of the wingback chair and melt into Severus’ arms. “I won’t have you here.” Harry pointed to his head. The boy’s glasses were fogging up, clouding his vision. But Severus knew what he must do. 

“Harry, child,” Severus cooed, both hands cradling Harry’s head, “you could never lose me.”

Harry dove into Severus’ arms, full body sobs and voice wailing his loss. Severus didn’t realize he was crying until his own vision began to swim. He’d never felt this way before. Ever. Not even when Lily had died. This boy had become the strongest fixture in his life that to lose their mental connection was nearly too much. 

Something hard and warm was pressed against Severus’ chest. Harry’s sobbing slowly tapered down to sniffing, but Severus wasn’t letting go until he knew that the boy was going to be okay. 

“Just take it.” Harry whispered, voice rough and strained. He pushed himself out of Severus’ tight embrace and sprinted to the door. He hadn’t even been able to take off his quidditch gear before he was marched up to Dumbledore’s office behind Severus like a criminal. 

Severus watched the boy, his precious boy, run away. And he couldn’t find it in him to follow to console the boy some more. 

“Severus.” Dumbledore’s voice interrupted Severus’ thoughts of retribution in Harry’s name. “It’s for the best.” 

“Sure it fucking is.” Severus growled. “You don’t know the kind of loneliness that boy has went through. Before coming here, he had no friends, he hated living with his family and going to any event with them.”

“Before coming here.” Dumbledore repeated. “He has friends now. And don’t all children go through fazes of wanting to be separated from their family?” Dumbledore stood, and walked toward where Severus was still knelt on the ground, watching where Harry had made an emotional exit. “He will be fine, Severus. He’ll get used to it.”

The months leaked by slowly. October came and went with a surprise visit from a Troll. Of which Harry and his two Gryffindor friends defeated. To Severus’ ever-increasing ire. November was a breeze; December came and went with Severus not able to giving so much as a ‘Happy Christmas’ to Harry the way he had for the past six years. The small gift that Severus found wrapped in brown paper made him feel guilty on Christmas night. Severus unwrapped the gift, finding a simple stick frame Hagrid would be proud of, with a wizard picture of a handful of first years. A mix of green and red sweaters amongst falling snow with Harry front and center, smiling at the camera. 

Harry tossed around a gathering of Mistletoe, the tiny bells jingling. It was New Years’ Eve and Harry felt as if he were the only one in the castle. It was nerve wracking at first. Not able to leave to a friends’ house without written permission from his family. And he certainly didn’t want to go to the Dursley’s and sit around in his cupboard, locked inside once again. Who knew what kind of courage Vernon had gathered since Harry had left for school.

Rather, Harry took his time exploring more of the castle, reading some books that Hermione had gathered for him to read whilst her and Ron were gone. A debate was still going through the trio if they should include Blaise and Draco. Blaise would be okay, Harry was pretty confident that the other boy wouldn’t go off snitching to Severus what they were doing. It was Draco that they were still nervous about. 

Ever since the first flying incident, Harry and Draco had spent a lot of time arguing and fighting over the pettiest things. Then, a couple of weeks later, Draco had woken up from such a terrible dream that no one could get him to calm. Greggory had run to get Severus while Blaise and Harry tried getting Draco to breathe. 

By the time Severus made his way into the boys’ dorm, completely dressed of course, Harry had a lapful of a shaking Draco. The soft cooing words coming out of Severus’ mouth to get his godson to stop shaking enough to take a draught almost made Harry jealous. That was his Severus. Those words were meant for Harry!

But looking at the concerned Professor and whimpering student made Harry realize that Severus had been able to calm Harry through his nightmares because he’d been doing this a long time. Whether it was Draco or another Slytherin didn’t matter. Harry could at least adopt such a pragmatic view, if not for his sanities’ sake. 

Their friendship was touch and go for a while. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Blaise constantly ditching the whining blond. Draco eventually had come around, though the steps were marginal at best. 

“Potter!” a voice shouted for Harry. He spun on his heel, worn sneakers squeaking on the stone floor. 

“Yes?” Harry prompted warily. 

The boy was older, likely a third year, and had golden blond hair, blue eyes, and a wide smile. He had a certain sort of swagger that Harry wouldn’t have noticed if Ron hadn’t once commented on Draco’s gait. 

“McLaggen,” The boy held out his hand. Harry looked at the offer as if it would bite him at any moment. “Just wanted to introduce meself. You’ve been doing really well at quidditch. Congratulations.” 

Harry thanked the boy, still confused as to why McLaggen had chased him down the hall. 

“Listen, I have a bet with one of me friends. I was wondering,” McLaggen got closer, crowding Harry a bit. “If you would be willing to throw your next game with Ravenclaw?” 

Blinking owlishly, Harry shook his head, not sure he was hearing correctly. 

“If you do so, I’ll be sure to pay you well for it.” McLaggen’s leer was making Harry’s stomach twist. 

“Oh, sure.” Harry didn’t try sounding too sincere. “I’d love to throw a game that would otherwise land us the house cup. Gryffindor is, what, almost two-hundred points behind everyone else?” he stood his ground, though. Even if his entire being urged him to run away. 

“What do you need, Harry?” McLaggen took a step closer, Harry took one back. He couldn’t help it. 

“For you to maybe floss once in a while?” Harry muttered. McLaggens’ blue eyes squinted in confusion. “Or how about not taking me for granted? I’m not going to throw a game for money.”

McLaggen tilted his lips in consideration. Harry had the feeling that McLaggen hadn’t been told ‘no’ enough. Smiling tightly, Harry considered this conversation over. So, he took a couple of steps around McLaggen. They were on the second floor, near enough the stairs that Harry could run for it if he needed. Maybe shout. 

“How about I don’t tell anyone you’re sleeping with a teacher?” 

Harry froze on the spot. Something dark and angry began stirring in Harry’s stomach. 

Sleeping with a teacher? Who? What kind of sick rumor was he willing to spin? Just to win a bet? No, Harry wouldn’t allow it. 

“I know you’re sleeping with Professor Snape.” McLaggen sneered. “No points for taste. I bet he makes you wear a girls’ skirt, too. I’ve heard you like dressing like a pouf.”

Harry could feel his face twist into something ugly. McLaggen seriously thought that Severus would sleep with a student. Or even assault a child. It was sick and twisted. 

“You really have to rethink your sources.” Harry replied, narrowly holding onto his anger. There was no hesitation on McLaggen’s part, however, by caging Harry in against the wall. A tapestry at Harry’s back not enough to keep the cold of the stones from soaking into Harry. 

“Nah, I’ve seen it.” McLaggen looked Harry up and down. Obviously McLaggen thought he was able to get Harry to bend to whatever the other boy needed. Or, rather, wanted. “That greasy git must love sticking his shrivled dick inside your-“ 

A blast of pure magic erupted from Harry, knocking McLaggen off his feet. Anger spilling out as waves of magic. McLaggen’s bright blue eyes widened in fear as Harry stalked closer. 

“How much of a sleazy, self-centered, weak person could you be?” Harry took a couple more steps closer. “Bribing a first-year!? Not to mention you were willing to cause a disgusting rumors about a teacher?” Harry could feel his wild magic swirling around him, could see the panic in McLaggen’s dull blue eyes. “And how do you think the most feared teacher in Hogwarts would react to how badly you talk about him? You’ll have a lot more troubles than a lost bet.”

“Potter!” Professor McGonagall screeched loudly, voice bouncing off the walls reducing the flare of magic. “You will cease this at once!”

McLaggen quickly got to his feet, running towards his head of house to cower behind. Harry tried not rolling his eyes. It was only by Dursley induced discipline that had Harry was standing as still and unoffensive as possible. Though he was pretty sure he had a put-upon face. 

“Professor, he tried to curse me!” McLaggen pointed and whined. 

“Silence. I heard Mister Potter just fine, Mister McLaggen. And what is this about false rumors about a Professor of yours?” McGonagall was able to get the quick of it in under twenty seconds. Harry was slightly more afraid of her than he had been before. She was a terror and a half, her prim eyebrows more demanding than the cold disdain of Severus’ mouth. “Bribing a first year! On a sport nonetheless. I will not have it, McLaggen. You and I are going to the Headmaster this instant, no Gryffindor of mine will be conducting himself in this kind of manner.”

Harry could breath, the tightness in his chest loosening some. The mistletoe in Harry’s hands were ruined, but at least he hadn’t ended up following the Professor up to the Headmasters’ office. He was sure he’d be in trouble then. 

“Oh, and Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall called to Harry. “You should go and check in with your Head of House. He’ll want to be appraised of this occurrence and I’ll be indisposed of.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry tried not beaming at her. Maybe she wasn’t so bad if she was allowing, or suggesting, that he could barge back into Severus’ life. 

He wasn’t let down when he got there. But he was beginning to re-evaluate the extent of Severus’ protectiveness. Severus had railed and cursed the boy who was trying to bribe an athlete for an organized sport! How dare he believe that Harry was fresh enough to pull the wool over his eyes. 

Harry was pretty sure that if Severus had found McLaggen bribing Harry, then the boy would be nothing more than what fit in a box of matches. Harry couldn’t help but preen at the thought of Severus going so far with discipline for Harry’s ‘innocence’.

“Next time I see that boy I’m going to-“

“You aren’t going to do anything, Sev.” Harry chuckled, chin on the desk. Harry was lounging in the Potions lab where he’d found Severus pacing and cleaning. “He’s a kid. He made a bad decision.” 

“Yes, well, it doesn’t take away the fact that he attempted to bribe a member of an opposing team to throw his game, on top of you being a first year! The nerve of that boy. How dare he!” Severus threw something in a cupboard and magic slammed the door. There was only an animalistic screech and clattering bottles from behind the door.

“I think,” Harry said slowly, listening to more racket in the cupboard, “that salamander was still alive.” 

Severus looked to Harry, turned and looked at the cupboards and listening to the clanging, then back to Harry. A slow smile broke the red-hot anger on Severus’ face, and soon that smile turned into a laugh. This was the first time Harry had seen Severus laughing. More like, this was the first time Harry had seen and heard Severus being anything more than the dour and serious man since years ago. Harry joined in the laughter, especially when the salamander had been able to squirm its way between the gap in the cupboard doors and scurry away indignantly. 

“What is going on in here?” Albus Dumbledores’ voice was light and curious. It made Harry turn around and look at the old wizard dressed in sparkling pink robes with mauve underlining. Laughter was still filling the room by the time Professor McGonagall had made her way inside the classroom as well. 

“N-nothing, sir.” Harry tried calming down, hiccoughing as he tried to measure his breath. Severus was annoyingly more proficient at organizing himself. 

“To what,” Severus cleared his throat, “do we owe the pleasure, Headmaster?” 

Dumbledore took in the two brunets, eyes lit up like fairy lights. Harry could see how Severus would be able to trust the older wizard. He was very disarming. 

“I was made aware that there was a scuffle on the second floor, regarding young Misters’ Potter and McLaggen.” Dumbledore let himself further into the classroom, taking in the sights as if he were a tourist. Harry half wondered when the last time Dumbledore was down here. “The matter has been settled-“

“Then what might be the issue, Headmaster? If the issue has been solved.” Severus sounded level and calm. Almost cold. But Harry knew the man better. He was still agitated. Wondering what else the old man wanted to take from the two of them. 

“Only that, Harry seems to still be able to use wild magic.” Dumbledore took a seat, while Professor McGonagall stood behind him. Her face was neutral as the headmaster continued. “Even for four months of tutelage, Harry’s magic should have settled. Accepted the use of a wand. It could be dangerous if not handled properly.”

Severus tilted his head towards Harry, who was now directly to Severus’ right, still sitting at the desk, chin resting on the tabletop in feigned disinterest. Wild magic? All this time? Harry’s magic should have been more apt to follow under the authority of a wand. Controlled and tempered. 

“Is that so?” Severus looked down on Harry, who was marvelously unaffected by the conversation. Dumbledore was digging around in his robes distractedly. “Harry has not told me as much.”

“I wonder, Professor Snape, if your student has been taught some forms of controlled wild magic? Because if he has, instruction must continue.” Dumbledore found something and plopped it in his mouth. The quiet chewing of a hard candy made Harry turn around. “My boy, wandless magic is extremely difficult to manage. Especially for someone as young as yourself. Tutelage in such an area of discipline should not have come so early for you. Though, I’m sure it has come in handy at times like this. Being cornered by another, older student. You must have been scared.” 

Something inside Severus bristled at the way Dumbledore was talking to Harry. As if Harry were his boy, and not Severus’. Possession so fierce burned inside him. Harry wasn’t a shaking, frightened firstie. He was strong, confident, and a beacon to others. Harry was not a child who feared much. He was a child with untold potential. 

“I wasn’t scared, sir.” Harry straightened up, head slightly bowed in submission. “I was angry. McLaggen said he would tell lies about a teacher. A teacher I care about.”

“So, you used that anger to attack that boy?” Dumbledore asked, still as a predator. Severus stiffened where he was. What was going on? An interrogation? The boy was only defending himself!

“He was crowding me in the corridor. I guess, then, I was scared he would do something to me. But anger came directly after. He shouldn’t have tried bribing me in the first place. Just because I’m younger than him doesn’t mean I’m the weaker one.” Harry’s green eyes nearly crystalline in emotion. 

So many things Dumbledore was silently accusing Harry of. And none of them indicating the defensive magic Harry was trying to use. 

“Youth is so often underestimated where strength lie.” Dumbledore uttered sagely. Harry couldn’t pin the wizard down. Was he defending the golden boy? Or was he attempting to align Harry to something? “I believe that you were acting with instinct. Otherwise wild magic is often times, well, wild. Unpredictable. The fact that you have been able to manage control over that kind of magic is wonderous. Not many, even as adults, have properly managed wandless magic.” Dumbledore stood, digging into his robes again and pulled out a yellow and red sweet and offered it to Harry. He took one. “I only worry about your safety. Wild magic can recoil just as any other type of magic or spell. And a recoil from manipulating that kind of magic can lead to disastrous and fatal effects.”

“I have begun teaching him meditation some years ago, Headmaster.” Severus interrupted, stepping forward a little. Harry thought the man would place himself between Harry and Dumbledore if there was enough room to do so. “I’m sure he remembers his instruction and will continue practicing to control his emotions.” 

“Oh, yes,” Harry nodded his head emphatically. “Definitely. I don’t want anyone to be hurt because of me.” 

Dumbledore bade a good evening and left promptly. Severus stood next to Harry, as if he were sucking on a lemon drop. Harry took a bite of the chew, his mouth watering immediately. 

“I’m sorry about this, Severus.” Minerva stood solemnly. “But I had to bring this to the Headmasters’ attention when McLaggen had said as much.”

“Forgiven, Minerva.” Severus sighed heavily. He could feel a headache rising swiftly, then in the next breath, it disappeared. “If meddlesome old fools are what I have to deal with for the rest of Harry’s life, then it’ll be the lesser of my worries.” 

Harry desperately wanted to hang back and talk some more with Severus. But he was summarily dismissed when Minerva began to bring up some safety measures for the school. Harry bade good night and left for his silent dorm room. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you laugh, Severus.” Minerva said, lifting the offered whiskey to her lips. “Please tell me that nothing inappropriate is happening. My conscience wouldn’t allow it.” 

“I would sooner cut my hands than place them on Harry.” Severus didn’t bother hissing at the mild condemnation. “I’ve never thought of the boy in that manner. Or any child. It’s a strange kinship we’ve found ourselves in.” 

“Indeed.” Minerva didn’t bring up anything else about Harry for the rest of the night. 

The break ended quickly. School resumed and rumors of Harry and his troupe of friends traipsing through the dark reached Severus’ ear. He quickly quashed any delinquent behaviors in his Slytherins before too long. 

Severus was enjoying a cup of brandy one night in May. Finals were coming up and he was ready to be free of the students and their constant nattering. Harry had come around some more after Boxing Day, finding Severus and bringing Minerva with him to “finish a paper.” They’d drunk eggnog and came to terms with their new arrangements. Harry was able to focus more on his friends and schoolwork than having his attention split between them and trying to be entertained by Severus. 

Smiling into his brandy, Severus was recalling Harry’s most recent game of quidditch where the boy nearly swallowed the damn snitch. It was still early enough in the night that Severus could handle putting off grading papers for a while without feeling guilty as May brought term papers and finals. 

He was just beginning to enjoy his buzz when an alarm began going off. Sitting up straight, Severus’ heartbeat raced. That was the alarm to the philosopher’s stone. 

“No!” Severus jumped out of his seat and quickly made his way to the third floor. He didn’t allow any of the students to stop him along the way, but when he nearly crashed into Longbottom, he’d began to get suspicious. “What is the meaning of this?”

Longbottom squeaked, turning pale. The boy hadn’t a drop of steel in his spine, but he seemed to be trying to say something. If Longbottom was here, then the rest of the Hogwarts Six was sniffing around as well.

“H-harry said to come get you.” Longbottom stuttered out. “Someone’s after the philosopher’s stone!”

“Quiet.” Severus hissed and dragged the boy behind a door. Thankfully they were on the third floor already. “How do you know about the stone?” Let alone where to find it.

“Harry and the others have been trying to find out what’s over there,” Longbottom pointed, still avoiding eye contact, “ever since Ron and Seamus stumbled onto Fluffy. We’ve been researching what could be there, but- Harry needs your help! Whoever was before them might already have the stone!”

Severus cursed. Leave it to Harry to withhold this kind of information. 

“Run and tell Dumbledore. If you meet Professor McGonagall first, let her know I need her assistance.” Severus tightened his robes around his person. “Go, now!”

Longbottom sprinted as fast as he could down the corridor, leaving Severus alone to stew with the information. 

He was sure that the person in question, the one that Harry and the others were chasing, was Quirrell. He’d tried himself to interrogate the stuttering man, but to no avail. 

Severus had just passed the potion challenge, impressed when he realized there were no casualties. These were children, eleven and twelve-year old’s who took on these challenges most adults wouldn’t be able to. 

The next stage revealed an unconscious Weasley, with Granger attempting to levitate him. Blaise and Draco nowhere in sight. 

“P-professor Snape!” Granger was startled when Severus came bursting through. “He said you’d come. Harry continued on. We’re fine here. Go.” 

Severus took in the pair, astounded that neither had any major injuries. Minor scrapes and abrasions only. He hoped Harry fared better. Severus struggled to get past the large door separating him from Harry. The chamber just beyond this was where the stone was hidden. 

“Harry,” Severus tried calling out to his boy. “Harry, please answer.”

A scream broke out beyond the stone door. Severus’ heart slammed into his chest with painful reverberance. 

“Harry!”

“Stand back, Severus.” Minerva’s brogue had never sounded so good to Severus. He threw himself back in just enough time to avoid Minerva’s blasting spell. 

Severus didn’t waste any time pushing through the rubble and dust. He blinked hard, trying to get the dirt out of his eyes to find Harry. 

“Harry,” Severus called into the silence. “Come on child, HARRY!” 

There was no sound, not even a gasping breath. When the dust cleared, Severus found Harry lying on the ground, hand clutching the rough red stone.

“Harry,” Severus fell to his knees, forgetting to draw his wand to check Harry for injuries. The boy was breathing, but it was shallow and rapid. “Harry, come on my boy, wake up.”

Green eyes rolled behind closed eyelids; black eyelashes wet with tears that streaked down his cheeks in clear tracks. Severus’ heart stuttered as he looked over the boy. There was the same number of cuts and abrasions on his body as Granger and Weasley. 

“Hold on, my boy.” Severus called to Harry. “We’ll get you fixed up. You’ll be okay.” 

Harry woke up slowly, his hands and head hurt. Likely from attacking and killing Quirrell. Shame and guilt bubbled up fiercely inside Harry, nearly overwhelming him with emotions. Tears pricked at the corner of Harry’s eyes. He tried looking around and immediately noticed that he was in the hospital wing, the ceilings and lighting pretty specific. There wasn’t anyone else in the room, except for a blob of lime green sitting at the edge of his bed. 

“Good afternoon, Harry.” The low, scratchy voice coming from the blob was, of course, Dumbledore. Harry woke up even more. Why was the old man there? Where was Severus? “Here are you glasses.” 

Harry grabbed at the frames and put them on haphazardly. Dumbledore came into focus just as the door to the hospital swung open. Harry drew his attention towards the large, black, billowing robes that struck joy into his chest. 

“Severus!” Harry tried sitting up straighter, but the aches to his body kept him from moving too fast. Thankfully, Severus was quick in getting to Harry. 

“Careful, Harry.” Severus’ voice was soft, urging Harry to take it easy. That was all fine and well, but Harry only wanted to melt into Severus’ arms and never come out. 

“He’s dead.” Harry whispered; still not sure he could comprehend everything that happened to him in those chambers. “I killed him. Quirrell and Voldemort,” Severus winced, pulling back slightly, but Harry kept on. “Quirrell had Voldemort in his turban, hiding him. Voldemort knew I was in Slytherin and tried to get me to help him. But I didn’t, I couldn’t give it to him.”

“Calm down, Harry.” Severus pet Harry’s hair, trying to ease his frayed nerves. “Calm down, my boy.” Harry took a deep breath and followed Severus’ breathing. In four counts, out five counts. “Now, are you sure it was the Dark Lord you saw?”

“Yes!” Harry pressed, “he said who he was. I wouldn’t have known otherwise.” Harry took a breath, swallowing a lump of nerves as he continued. “He tried getting me to follow him. Saying that I should be by his side when he rises. He said he could protect my friends.” 

Harry looked into Severus’ eyes, tracking the movements and facial tics. He knew he made the right decision to deny Quirrell and the ghost of the Dark Lord. Voldemort. 

“But I said no.” Harry breathed. “I couldn’t leave you like that. I can’t trust that he would keep his word.” Harry smiled, “Besides, I bet three-hundred chocolate frogs that I wouldn’t become a dark wizard. And following Voldemort is as dark as one could get.” 

The wince wasn’t missed by Harry as Severus withdrew. His heart beat fast, knowing that Harry said something to make Severus react that way. He hated when he said or did anything that made someone withdraw from Harry. He’d said or done some things in the past that made either his Gryffindor friends or Slytherin housemates worried. He’d learned pretty quickly to hide the fact that he was afraid of the pitch dark, was fast to notice that everyone stared at him weirdly when he ate too much too fast and felt sick nearly the rest of the day until he ate again. He’d wince from someone raising a hand to wave at someone down the hall. He’d said some pretty dark things about beating someone into submission, or how he’d had to do the garden on the hottest day of the year. 

But seeing Severus do this to him, was something that hurt beyond any reason. 

“Did I do good?” Harry asked, worried he’d mis stepped, even if he stood up for himself and his friends against Voldemort. 

“You did good, Harry.” Severus finally smiled, a rare smile that showed his crooked canines. Harry wanted to smile back, but the sad look in the man’s eyes made him rethink that. “I’m so proud of you, my boy.” 

Harry absorbed the good feelings rolling off the man in front of him, regardless of what his eyes were trying to say. 

“If I had my pocket mirror, I could have let you know as we were heading down.” Harry said pointedly, not forgetting that Dumbledore was still perched at the end of his bed. 

“About that, Harry.” Dumbledore held up a finger. “I believe, that especially given the circumstances,” the man waved over at the two of them, as if presenting an exhibit for the court, “I don’t think it would be wise to give you back the mirror.”

“What!” Harry sat up and away from Severus’ hovering over his bed. “I thought for sure you would see why it’s important for me to have this with Sev. I need him.”

“Did you go down there to prove a point, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, looking over his half-moon spectacles. 

“Of course not.” Harry growled, breath coming quickly. He was so angry, so upset that Dumbledore just couldn’t see how much Harry needed to have access to warn Severus or ask for help. “Sir, why won’t you give it back. It was a gift! Just take the spell off it. I’ll just keep it as a pocket mirror.” 

Harry hadn’t remembered until a few days after the pocket mirror had been surrendered, that there was that model’s magazine photo glued in it. Harry was embarrassed to realize that Severus might have seen the blasted thing. 

“Because it is wildly inappropriate for a teacher and student to have a relationship, romantic or no.” Romantic. Harry cursed. Why would Sev and I be romantic? He’s as old as my dad! “Not to mention, the spell on the object is permanent. I assessed it after you gave it to me. It is placed by an Occlumens and cannot be removed by my power or Professor Snape.” 

Huffing at the news, Harry flopped back onto his bed. How incredibly unfair! It was a gift. Not to mention how many times Harry had missed being able to call out to Severus when he’d had a nightmare or had been cornered by some rotten upper-year Gryffindors. 

“Fine.” Harry conceded. There would be no way to salvage this without breaking into the headmasters’ office and stealing the damn thing, even if the old man still had it. “By the way,” Harry remembered something else from last night. Or the night before. Whenever it was he was down in the chamber. “Voldemort said something about Neville. Said that he’d have his time to get to Neville. What’s that about?”

Severus and Dumbledore looked at one another, confusion lacing about their faces. Harry couldn’t guess at what the two would be saying if their minds were connected. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Harry.” Dumbledore talked over Severus who looked like he was about to say something else. “Neville is perfectly safe. Now, I do believe it’s important for you to be resting. Professor Snape and I will leave you be. The final feast is tomorrow night, so please rest up.”

“Tomorrow?” Harry shouted? Had he missed finals? What happened to the end of the year being three weeks away? “How long was I out?” 

“Your finals have been averaged out to your school year. We had no choice given the circumstances. You’ve passed all your classes, dear boy. Congratulations.” Dumbledore said in a twinkling smile. It put Harry on edge to see the gleam in the conniving man’s eyes. “Now, we should be off.”

Dumbledore clapped his hands then got up smoothly. Much smoother than any old man had the right to be. Severus mimicked the man and stood as well. Harry begged with his eyes for Severus not to leave him. 

“Be sure to eat.” Severus said by way of salutations. “Slowly. I don’t want you getting sick again.”

“Okay, Sev.” Harry rebelled against Dumbledore by talking to Severus so formally. “I guess I can always owl you this summer.”

“I don’t believe that would be-“

“Appropriate, I know.” Harry admitted in defeat. “Fine, maybe I’ll have some questions for summer homework.” Grinning wickedly, Harry met Severus’ eyes. “You are still assigning summer homework, right?” 

“Of course. Going by the overall grades of the first-years, you lot will be lucky enough to be prepared for second-year course work.”

“Even if I passed with an O?” 

“Sleep, Mister Potter.” Severus pulled on the placid face of Harry’s professor. Harry would forever be amazed by how quickly the man could shore himself up. 

Before he knew it, Harry was preparing to leave Hogwarts to board the train for home. Well, not his home, but Dursley’s home. But before that happened. Harry decided to try talking with the headmaster before leaving. If he wasn’t brave enough to confess to Severus what went on at the Dursley’s, then maybe he could be able to tell Dumbledore. 

Harry put his book bag down, next to the guarded stairs. He went through a few wizarding sweets before hitting the jackpot with a muggle sweet. He climbed the stairs, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow. 

“Harry.” Dumbledore greeted him at the office door. “What can I help you with?”

“Can I speak to you? It’s nothing to do with Sev or I. Or wanting the mirror back.” Harry quickly added when the man looked at Harry over his spectacles. 

“Come on in.” Dumbledore offered Harry a tea before sitting. “What can I help you with?” he repeated. 

Harry took a big breath, deep and clearing before gathering up the shreds of his courage. This was going to be the hardest thing he’d done. 

“I don’t want to go back. To the Dursleys. They’re mean, and spiteful, and I don’t like it there. They’ve hurt me and starved me before. I don’t want to go back.” 

“Harry,” Dumbledore sat back in his seat, sounding exhausted. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Pardon?” a bit of Draco had finally made his way into speech. After all this time and friendly lessons in etiquette, and it finally sank in. 

“We can’t remove you from your aunt and uncle. I’m sure you would love nothing more than to ask to be placed with Professor Snape. But this won’t work.” Dumbledore rubbed at his temple in a rare show of frustration. 

“But, sir,” Harry tried again, “that’s not what I’m-“

“Of course, it is. You want so much to be with Professor Snape, that you are exaggerating your living situation with your family. I’m sure they’re not as bad as you say they’re being. As a school, we’ve gotten reports from your muggle teachers. They outline how often you’ve been in trouble at school, how often you lie to your teachers and schoolmates. And while I’m glad you haven’t acted out here, I can’t help but wonder if there is nothing you won’t say to remain close to Professor Snape.”

“No. Sir. That’s not-“

“I won’t hear it, Harry. I’m sorry.” Dumbledore raised his hands though he spoke mildly. “Unless you’ve got proof of abuse or neglect, I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to your family. There are blood wards set around your home. To protect you. If you separate yourself from their care, then it would be extremely difficult for you to find a suitably safe home. It’s safer with your family.”

Harry was pigeon-holed. There was no way now that Dumbledore would believe the scars on his back and thighs were from being beaten by Vernon. That the burn marks on his torso wasn’t from chemical burns when Petunia would scrub him down with cleaning solutions. There was no way the man would believe him. 

“Fine.” Harry rubbed his face, nearly knocking off his glasses. He was defeated, time and again by this man. How many times had Neville been let off the hook for avoiding his classes, especially Severus’? How many times had the other boy been molly-coddled to keep him from telling his over worrying parents that he was having so many panic attacks during school? Harry had heard more than once in his own trips to the hospital wing from Poppy her frustration with Dumbledore over the matter. “Have a good holiday, sir.”

Harry later boarded the train, trying to find Severus in the crowd of other staff members bidding their goodbyes. But the man was nowhere to be seen. Just as well, this bright of a day the rumors of Severus being a vampire could strengthen into epic proportions during the summer break. 

Thankfully his friends were there to entertain him. There was still clashing going on with Draco and Blaise against Neville, Ron, and Hermione. It sometimes got to be too much, but the five of them were well enough friends with Harry that they tried to mitigate their arguing with dares. Ron was just getting an entire liquorish wand snorted up his nose when the train signaled their final stop. Ron was sneezing the rest of the time after quickly removing the sweet. Harry laughed with the rest, trying to forget that he was going to be incredibly lonely without Severus keeping him company at night. 

Maybe he could owl Severus and request whichever potion’s journals were available to read. Severus would be proud of him for taking a keener interest in potions if he did that, right? Not only that, but if he worded his letters just right, he could continue a regular correspondence that looked like a faithful student getting extra, long-distance practical tutoring instead. 

Mind made up, Harry bid his friends goodbye, demanding that they all write him over the summer. Blaise admitted he’d be spending a lot of time in Italy this summer with his family and would not be able to write as often. But at least Ron and Hermione promised they would write every day. 

“Bye, Harry,” Hermione squeezed Harry hard, the last of his friends to leave. Over her shoulder, Harry could see Vernon pull up to the curb of the sidewalk. The man had jumped the curb in his eagerness to get in and out. Harry frowned at the action nonetheless. “I’ll miss you.” 

“Miss you too, ‘Mione.” Harry squeezed her one more time, enjoying having another person’s solid body and heat enveloping him. “Bye.” 

She waived, caught sight of her parents, and melted into the crowd. 

“Harry,” Vernon called from the side of the car. “Hurry!”

Harry huffed, thinking that Vernon was in a rush to get home and not be seen here where witches and wizards could be greeting him and touching him. Chuckling under his breath, Harry pushed his trolley closer to the car, Hedwig screeching loudly and flapping her wings. 

“Hedwig. Stop.” Harry hissed at his familiar. “Come on, I’ll give you a treat if you calm down. Please.” 

“Quiet that bloody bird.” Vernon grunted as he hauled Harry’s trunk and things into the boot. Harry stared at Vernon. He was surprised at the lack of vitriol in the man’s voice. Shrugging it off, Harry tried feeding Hedwig an owl treats but she refused, continuing to make a racket. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry rushed, hoping not to be hit in the middle of public. “She must just want out. I can let her out and she can meet us at the house.” 

“Absolutely not.” Vernon brushed his hands of the dirt from the boot. It was odd that there was enough buildup for Vernon to be dirtied. He usually kept the car looking spotless. Or at least had Harry keeping it spotless. His lack of presence must be the reason why it’s dirty. “Now get in.” 

Again, the lack of spite and hate drew Harry short. Maybe the man was just in a good mood. That must be it. Finally got that raise he’d been whining about since last spring. 

Harry tried fitting Hedwig’s cage between his feet on the floor of the car. She kept screeching, drawing all sorts of attention by passing muggles. Harry blushed at the stares. 

The car door slammed just as Vernon put the car into gear and took off, merging jerkily into traffic. Harry kept looking at his uncle as if he’d lost the plot. The man never treated his car this way. All the while Dudley took the jerking motion in the cab without saying a thing. Which tipped Harry off that something was wrong. 

“Erm,” Harry raised his voice, clearing it when Petunia turned in her seat to look fully at him behind her. “Can we stop for ice cream?” Harry decided that it was a safe enough question to ask. “I’m really hungry.” 

“Sorry,” Vernon answered, hands gripping the steering wheel with a death grip. Beady eyes watching the road. “Your aunt has dinner ready at home. Don’t want to spoil your meal, do you?”

“Who are you?” Harry begun to panic. He immediately begun to search his pockets for something he already knew wasn’t there. “You’re not my family! WHO ARE YOU!”

Before Harry could even take another breath, his vision darkened. He heard his owl screech something terrible before he knew nothing else.


	4. The New Dark Lord

The nights were drawing closer against the days. Severus dug aggressively through his garden, trimming herbs and plants, checking on the propagated shrubs, and setting up the muggle automated watering system. Let it not be known that Severus enjoyed some of the more convenient inventions of the muggles. 

Looking around his home for the fifth time today, Severus tried expelling the feeling that he was missing something. 

Ever since the end of school and the beginning of summer, Severus had begun to worry over Harry. He’d assumed, more times than was necessary, that Harry was enjoying the company of his family and friends. Even though Severus knew that Harry had a difficult time being around the Dursleys. 

Severus had been surprised that he hadn’t received even a single owl from Harry. Hadn’t even seen the beautiful white bird gracing the skies overhead. The long days were filled with shopping, researching, filling potions orders, and cultivating a section of his garden the way he’d planned to a year ago. 

He hoped that Harry had found his niche with his friends. Appropriate friends. People in whom Harry should be leaning on for social interaction and connections. But even the constant convincing Severus tried pushing on himself couldn’t quiet the voice that he was missing something. 

Every day, nearly every hour, he’d patted down his pockets in search for that something. The hob in the kitchen was off, the tub wasn’t overflowing, his laundry wasn’t sitting souring in the corner of his closet as it had in his teen years. There was no formidable reason for this missing piece in his life. 

Except that Severus missed the nattering Harry would do when sitting in a boring class. He missed the pressure of Harry’s presence in his mind. Severus figured that after six years of mental connections severed, would a person believe that they were missing a limb. 

“Severus,” the man sitting across from Severus drew his attention. He was a handsome dirty blond with blue eyes. “Am I boring you?” 

Severus couldn’t help but answer in the positive in his mind. The muggle in front of him was his most recent date, an attempt at being normal and having social connections of his own. 

“No,” Severus lied through his teeth. The man was handsome, perhaps he should pursue a more lasting relationship than the handful of encounters they’d recently had. “I’m sorry, I keep feeling like I left the oven on at home.” 

“I hear you.” The man smiled. He really was very handsome. “Mackie can reach the light switch now, sometimes I’ll come home to the damned dog with all the lights on.” 

The man laughed, enticing Severus to follow suit. 

The feeling never left. 

September came before Severus was ready for it. The opening feast was in full swing after the sorting of students, but that same feeling had made a frightful vengeance. When Severus had glanced across the gathering of a certain group of friends, worried looks plastered on their faces, did Severus realize something was terribly, horribly wrong. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore leaned over the table to gain Severus’ attention, “Where is Harry?”

A cold stone dropped in his stomach. If Dumbledore didn’t know, and Harry’s friends were looking just as concerned up at the high table, something was very wrong. 

“I don’t know.” Severus sat back in his seat, not wanting to tip off the student body as more and more students began looking around for that familiar mop of brown hair and piercing green eyes. 

“Against my better judgement,” Dumbledore whispered loud enough for Severus to hear two seats down, “I want you to go to his home and find out what is keeping the boy.” 

Severus nodded and wasted no time in leaving the table, ignoring the look on his snakes’ faces as he found the Slytherin Prefect. He informed the boy to fill in for him on the welcoming speech Severus usually made before striding out the Great Hall. As far as covert went, it was the poorest attempt Severus had ever made. But the warning in his gut ensured that he didn’t care. 

Past the boundaries of the school, Severus twisted on the spot, apparating in a safe spot near Privet Drive. He’d only visited once or twice when he thought Harry had been in a lot of pain and danger. But the boy had eventually convinced him that he had fell out of a tree and broke his arm. That his aunt and uncle were preparing to take him to the hospital. 

So it was with a dread so visceral it almost made him sick to see a burned out carving of where Number 4 had once stood. The two houses surrounding Harry’s home was singed and burned all the way through in some parts. The damage was so old that green grass was already poking through, weeds taking over the lot in patches. There wasn’t even any caution or police tape spread around the damages. Only a solitary sign staked into the ground restricting access to all three properties. 

Tears sprung to Severus’ face, a hollowness begun to spread through his body, numbing and nearly blinding. 

“No.” Severus argued with what he was seeing. The closer he got, the more he could smell the burned rubble still permeating the air. The stick frame of the house wasn’t even standing, it was all burned piles of charcoal and ash not blown away by gentle summer breezes. “No!”

A bellow of pain came out of nowhere, Severus hardly knew where it came from. He thought there might be a wounded animal somewhere, struggling to live. But the tearing in his throat and a set of arms wrapping around his shaking frame made him vaguely believe that he was making the sound. 

The burn had been so hot, so devastating that Severus couldn’t even see any details to the home. The garden beyond sitting in burned bushes or overgrown shrubbery. Harry’s garden. His favorite place to be. Gone. Destroyed. 

“HARRY!” Severus wailed, trying to get out of the bracketing arms around his middle. Another pair of hands pulled on his shoulders, a voice was whispering in his ear, though he couldn’t be sure what was being said. His voice bled raw with his shouting. The empty, hollow pain of being gutted and disassembled coursing through his frame in digging, prickling roots. “HARRYYYY!” 

Severus kept shouting, not bothered by the neighbors turning on their lights. Their own grief and empathy keeping them from calling the police on him. A shouting man crying in the arms of someone Severus couldn’t be sure was a friend. 

“No….” Severus collapsed, finally, in the persons’ arms behind him. Face hot with anger, grief, loss, and something more painful than Severus could name. “My boy, my sweet boy.” 

“Severus,” a familiar voice whispered hot in his ear, “not here. Not here.” 

“Harryyy,” Severus kept crying, kept trying to reach out with fingers and magic, for the broken connection that had been stolen from the both of them nearly a year ago. “How could you.”

Severus whispered, throat closing and aching as he tried to gain control over himself. A cold mask of indifference tried settling onto his face, taking up the burden of the wreckage of sadness in his heart. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore urged, “not now.”

“You took him away from me.” Severus bemoaned, his tears still streaming hotly down his face despite his calm. “You took away the only thing he could call out for help with.”

“Let’s go, the Aurors have been contacted, they’ll need to process this scene.” Dumbledore tried consoling Severus, but he couldn’t feel anything. Only the aching loss and pain of being gutted. 

Severus eventually nodded in agreement, but only when he heard Kingsley Shacklebolt arrive with his team, ordering someone to contact the muggle police. 

There was no way to get vindication. No way to get revenge. Not until the Aurors could tell Severus how this happened. He couldn’t even hope that Harry was recovering in a hospital somewhere. The school would have been notified; agents of the wizarding world should have notified someone in the school. 

Severus wished there was some piece of the home left. Some little nook where something survived. But not even a healthy plant stood against the blazing force of fire except dandelions and weeds. 

It was only a month later when Dumbledore called Severus into his offices. The Potions Master was distracting himself with grading papers with a cruel hand. None have survived his markings thus far. 

Severus sighed, putting down the bent and haggard looking quill, and rose to his feet. His entire body ached in pain. More pervasive was his headache, but he’d already taken too many potions to ease that pain. 

Carefully measured steps clicked through the corridors. What students were out at this hour quickly moved out of his way, attempting to avoid detention or worse. 

“Professor?” A timid voice stopped Severus nearly midstride. He was just a corner away from climbing Dumbledore’s office stairs. 

“Mister Longbottom.” Severus’ cold affect didn’t even echo down the halls as it usually had. And Neville Longbottom could tell. 

Behind the round boy stood what remained of Harry’s friends. And it hurt to think that the five students seemed nearly as affected by Harry’s disappearance as Severus had. 

“I assume the five of you are here on the Headmasters’ summons?” Severus didn’t wait for everyone’s agreement. “Let’s not all of us dither.” He turned on his heel and led the little sad troupe up the stairs. 

With a shaking hand, Severus touched the cold knob of Dumbledore’s office. He was acutely aware of the young people behind him, likely just as scared and nervous as he was. Beyond the oak door was Albus Dumbledore and two Aurors. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastair “Mad Eye” Moody. Severus had a feeling he knew why the latter, retired, Auror was here. But he tamped down the choking fear and quietly ushered the group of students towards the front. 

“Please, come in.” Dumbledore bade. Though everyone was inside, Severus stood furthest away from the group. A pair of young, silver eyes implored Severus not to stray far. “As you all know, Harry Potter has not been able to join us. I’ll hand it over to Auror Shacklebolt to fill us in.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.” Shacklebolt muttered evenly. Severus had a bad feeling about this. He didn’t dare look down to his young students. “At the beginning of term, the Auror department had been notified of the disappearance of Harry Potter. Through unfortunate circumstances, we had found Potters’ home completely destroyed by a fire.” The students gasped. Severus forgot that they didn’t know about that. Shacklebolt went on, Severus’ stomach tightened painfully. “Through determination and investigations, it’s safe to say that... Harry Potter had died in the house fire with his family. 

“His familiar and all his things that could be magically traced was found in the remains of the house. His wand burning may have exacerbated the flames, causing the fire to completely incinerate everything inside. The muggles have identified the Dursleys and Potter by their dental records. We’ve checked all local hospitals and haven’t found any survivors. There are neighbors’ accounts placing all four of them in the house.”

The children were crying, Hermione had cried out sometime during Shacklebolt’s report. Severus stood completely still, wondering when his twisting stomach was going to turn out. But nothing happened. He was still cold inside, ever since he’d come up to the scene at the beginning of the year. 

Draco had stood and ran into Severus’ arms, digging his head into Severus’ robes. Nearly the same way Harry had on occasion. 

“We’re sorry,” Dumbledore noted gravely. Severus could detect a fair amount of sorrow and guilt in his voice. But the buzzing in Severus’ head distracted him from confronting Dumbledore on the fact. “We know Harry meant a lot to the five of you.” At least Dumbledore had the decency to look at Severus to include him if even without verbalizing it. “Which is why I thought it important to invite you all here. Your professors have been appraised of the news and can be there for any of you should you need it.”

Severus blocked out whatever drivel continued. All he knew to do was stand there, distantly comforting his godson. His boy, his almost son, had perished in a fire. A mundane fire. The knowledge that he would never again see Harry’s smiling face, or hear his excited ramblings in the corridors, or interruptions during a quiet potion’s session, struck something deep inside of Severus. 

Quickly and quietly Severus used his talents in Occlumency to shutter in every single memory he had of Harry. His messy hair, those sharp green eyes, his ugly Weasley sweater, the way he constantly fiddled with his wand as if it were a drumstick. Severus neatly boxed away all the happy sounds the boy made around his friends, how he flew on his broom with such command, how he squirmed when having to touch bat wings, the tiny scrunching of his nose when he found something truly hilarious. Severus Snape closed away every tiny memory, every shred of evidence that Harry Potter had ever touched his soul. 

“Is that all?” Severus heard himself say, nasally and cold. “If it isn’t, I might remind you, headmaster, that I have orders to make before the Hallows Eve holiday.”

Shock registered on Dumbledore’s features before a nearly imperceptible nod came from the man. Ignoring the look on Draco’s face and the disbelief of the rest of the five, Severus turned on his heel and glided out of the office, down, down, down the stairs and further still until he was carefully cloistered inside his living space. Blackness nearly began encroaching into his vision, his breath ragged and harsh in the silence. Severus grabbed the nearest thing and threw it hard across the room. The satisfying shatter of glass incensed him to continue throwing things. Expensive things, fragile things, things that were gifts or things that were heavy. He made his way through the room until he picked up a rough wood frame. He froze. 

There, smiling without a single care or knowledge of his fate, stood Harry, bracketed amongst his friends. The photo-Harry smiled, eyes twinkling in mischief and pure happiness. Severus could almost hear the boys laugh. Feel it in his bones. Bouncing around in his ribcage as freely as any sound in a massive church. The hollowness inside Severus felt full for a split second upon remembering the boy’s warmth. 

Severus cried himself to sleep, voice raw and rough with wracking sobs that ached his body in the coming morning. 

“The man is an absolute maniac!” Ron shouted, uncaring if the object of his ire was around the corner waiting to pounce on him. “No one has been able to pass a single potion.”

Hermione, Draco, Blaise, and Neville sat around a large bolder in the courtyard, looking either downtrodden or upset about their grade. 

“He’s suffering just like us, Ron,” Draco’s soft voice tried to calm the other boy, “you know how close Harry and he were.” 

“That’s just it!” Ron kept on, “The man didn’t even shed a tear when Shacklebolt told us what happened. All he could think about was ordering more ingredients. And punishing us in the process!” he held up his essay as proof. It didn’t matter that he’d tried to write as large as possible to fill up the one and a half feet of space on a particular ingredient.

“Maybe he’s deflecting,” Neville piped up, rare for him to do so in the middle of any of his friends’ tirades. “Harry always said that Snape was trying to keep a professional appearance. Even if Harry saw him more as his dad than a friend.”

They’d started talking about Harry again. It had been three months since hearing the news, and the whole school seemed to have moved on except them. And Snape. Neville was feeling the stress about the recent appearance of some sort of monster, going around petrifying cats and students. Not to mention his parents were worrying about his safety, his grades were slipping in everything but Herbology, and his friends kept holding semi-vigils like this. 

Neville couldn’t help but allow the distractions to take his attention away from losing a good friend. Even if he had been a Slytherin, and a little scary at times, Harry had been a very good friend, always making sure that Neville had been included in their little club. 

Not only that, but he and Ron had become something of Harry’s defenders. After Harry had been cornered by some third-year Gryffindor last year, Neville and Ron – though mostly Ron – made sure one of them were always with Harry. 

“This sucks.” Ron collapsed, finally. “If Harry were here, he’d straighten ol’ Snape out.”

“But he’s not here, Ron.” Draco’s voice was hard. It startled everyone. “We have to move on. Harry wouldn’t want us tearing ourselves up or getting mad at Snape.”

Silence fell over the little group. Neville saw Blaise shift a little closer to Draco, though he wasn’t watching the blonds face. Ron, however, had twisted in his seat and looked incredulously up at Draco. 

“You’re saying we should forget him?”

“No,” Draco’s voice was softer, sounding lost once again. “I’m saying that there’s no use in us wallowing in his loss. Trust me, I feel horrible for even saying this, but I don’t want to be expelling any more energy in grieving.”

“I think I hear what you’re saying, Draco.” Neville stood up and faced his friends. Thankfully he’d done so, because Ron looked like he was about to wail on Draco, his broken wand drawn and down at his hip. “Just because Harry is gone, doesn’t mean he isn’t here.” Neville pointed at his chest, right where his heart is. “I choose to think of all the good things about him. Like how he was always willing to help me with DADA.”

“Or why he’d never let his socks be washed before playing quidditch.” Blaise chimed in, smiling at remembering the stench in the locker room when he visited. 

“Or how he liked to sneak up on Hermione in the library.” Draco added. He smiled when Hermione punched his shoulder gently. 

“He liked to nap in the sun like a lazy cat.” Hermione decided to add, her face lightening up a little at remembering of finding Harry in the sunniest place in Hogwarts’ halls. Which would sometimes place him in the middle of a corridor. “And he didn’t mind where that was.” 

They all chuckled lightly, remembering other things about Harry that they were going to miss. 

Ron sat on the ground, he began sniffling, wiping at his face with his shirt sleeve. Draco knelt down and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Ron kept sniffing. 

“I’ll never get those Chocolate Frogs from him.” 

Neville couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing so hard he fell over. Maybe things were going to be okay. Maybe they didn’t have to suffer the loss of a friend that once had the rest of his life in front of him. 

Severus was up all night brewing the sludge of a potion to wake up those that had been petrified. He and Sprout had been itching to get the mandrakes to mature well enough to be sliced into the vital potion. It was a particularly nasty one, considering that he had to cut into a crying mandrake. But thankfully, his guards were up. There wasn’t much that would get through his mask of indifference anymore. 

Save for Draco and his rag-tag team. Severus almost wished that the boy was here, safe in his labs while he finished the potion. The fact that he, Weasley, and Longbottom went down into those sewers to find Miss Weasley was heart stopping. 

Grumbling and murmuring to himself while counting his stirring, he cursed whomever thought it a good idea to release the ninety-foot beast unto the school. He dropped his stirring rod for the fifth time, his hands were shaking so bad. 

“You alright, Severus?” Pomona Sprout asked cautiously. She, like the rest of the school, had learned pretty quickly that Severus would turn on anyone as quickly as a feral cat. He’d been warned by Dumbledore multiple times of his attitude, especially towards the students. 

“Fine, Pomona.” Severus muttered, pulling another crystal stirring rod from his collection. This one was broken at the handle, but it was his last clean one and he was near the end of this stage of the potion. Though getting cut and dripping blood into the potion would make the potion caustic and foul-smelling. He hesitated on digging through his older ones. “Almost done.” 

Severus thought about Miss Granger, laying petrified in the Hospital Wing as her friends wait for the potion. A heavily injured Longbottom and Miss Weasley lay in their own beds, recovering from their injuries. What Severus wouldn’t do for this group of misguided friends. 

“I’ll need to watch this for an hour before we can add the petals of Calendula in.” Severus distracted himself by gathering up the dirtied, and mostly shattered, stirring rods. The pain in his head was back again with a vengeance, but he couldn’t afford to be sidetracked or clouded with pain potions. That, and he’d maxed out on several potions. 

“Severus, I have to ask.” Pomona went about helping Severus scoop up the shards of crystal. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been getting worse since the beginning of the school year. I know losing a student is particularly hard. You know how difficult it was when I lost poor Jonathan Mason. You were there for me when I least expected it. I’d like to return the favor. 

“Longbottom had mentioned that you and Potter had been particularly close. I won’t ask questions I already know the answer to, you’re a painfully moralistic man. So, if you need anyone to talk to, I’ve always got a glass of brandy or two for you.” 

Severus sighed heavily, discarding the broken pieces into a bin. He heaved another sigh, shaky and painful, before turning towards Pomona. He must have been obviously struggling with keeping his emotions at bay, because Pomona made a very matronly tut, but kept her distance. Feral cat and all. 

“I could never – ” Severus paused after every word, it was painful to be digging this all up after trying for so long to come to terms with his loss, “ – forgive myself for allowing Harry out of my sight. We have no knowing if it had been a complete accident, or murder. And if D-death Eaters were involved.” 

Severus fell quiet, not able to invest any thought that any from his old crowd would have targeted a young child. But he also knew better. He’d often heard of Bellatrix Lestrange’s escapades, and her husband was especially cruel. Even if the both of them were sitting in Azkaban, there was no accounting for any wretch, wizard or otherwise, who would have targeted such an unassuming family. 

“I can’t let my guard down.” Severus cleared his throat. He turned to focus on his brewing, making sure that he got it right the first time. Miss Granger didn’t deserve being in such a stasis for so long. Harry would not have been able to handle it. “I have to do everything I can to protect my students.” 

It was quiet in his labs for the next couple of hours. Pomona had proven she hadn’t lost her touch with her own potions making, which left Severus to focus on the finer aspects. 

“Harry would appreciate your dedication, Severus.” 

Somedays it was difficult to keep his behavior in check. He knew that he was being rotten, nearly for no reason. It was only with the end of year exams and essays that Severus let up, grading as fairly as he could. Not all were complete losses, but he was glad to see that even Neville had gotten Exceeds Expectations on his final. It was just barely enough to let the boy pass his class. 

Granger and the other students came around eventually, Hagrid had been released from Azkaban, and Neville and Miss Weasley had made mostly full recoveries. Though, Severus could tell that the young girl would forever be scarred by the impetus of the Dark Lord’s journal. The school had done an investigation as to how the book had come into the girls’ possession, but nothing came of it. 

Chagrined, Severus buttoned down his mask and went about his days as normally as he could. The crippling depression and grief had lessened the more he talked to Pomona about it all. She’d become great company, lending an ear to his plights. He hadn’t been able to make a true recovery until Minerva began joining them. She felt responsible as well, being the one to point out the connection between Harry and Severus. 

“I couldn’t have known that you two were mentally connected.” Minerva said in defense of herself. Though, Severus could hardly blame her, even if he’d never had one illicit relationship or rumor of one with any of his students. It was always better safe than a child getting hurt. He could only see that now, after everything. “That boy was so taken to you.” Minerva cradled her whiskey, really looking at Severus. “You were a good influence on him. Kept him in line, made sure he was studying.”

“Yes,” Severus huffed, but began to smile, “although you should have heard him while he was in primary school. Always trying to get out of paying attention. I’d had to go so far as to find which textbooks his teachers were using to review with him.” Severus put his glass of brandy down. He’d only had one tonight. “And it was he that kept me in check. Always getting after me if I got too angry or strict on the students. He was so obsessed with making sure he was doing good things.”

Severus could recall how worried Harry was about failing or falling short of Severus’ expectations. Though the man tried telling Harry that he could make himself into whatever he wanted, the boy was always wanting to know what Severus thought. He caught Minerva and Pomona smiling softly. 

“Then I guess you were good for each other.” Pomona giggled, her cheeks ruddy after a couple of glasses of wine. “How is your partner? Are you still seeing him?” 

“No,” Severus shook his head, guilt sprung up for the very first time in a long while, “we grew apart after –” Severus gulped, the knot in his throat constricting. “—after Harry. He moved out sometime during Christmas break.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Severus.” Minerva pat Severus’ hand gently. “Everything in its time.” 

The next day brought a newer appreciation for his life. Mostly because he wasn’t hungover emotionally after a “girls night in” as Pomona’s niece called it. Wouldn’t she be horrified to know Severus was one of those ‘girls’. 

Puttering about his small house, Severus began to see where he’d begun to let things go. There was a pile of clothes in his closet, ink stains on the pine writing desk, and dishes stacked high. Instead of using his magic to clean, Severus forced himself to use his physical labor as a catharsis. He wasn’t nearly as distracted by Harry’s memory as he moved about. 

There were things that needed repairing, a fridge needing filled, and the electricity company had been sending notification and inquiries since he used so little. The fridge and occasional light switch getting the most attention. 

He couldn’t get around to emptying his memory palace of everything Harry just yet. Some nuggets of memories would occasionally slip through. Like when he would spot a muggle candy bar Harry was addicted to. Or the owl treats Hedwig had preferred. Harry had once complained on how expensive they’d been, but he had bought them every time, without fail and in large quantities. The bird was nearly practically overfed with the morsels.

The sadness seemed to be slowly slipping away. But the hollowness remained. The echoing church walls inside his ribs rebounded with the warmth and laugh of the boy. He wondered if he’d ever be able to fill that void. 

Summer was muggy, hot and humid. Neville thought that he was going to melt. 

His correspondence with his friends kept him busy. They were slowly moving on. Ron took up the spotlight, he and Draco’s budding relationship was obvious to everyone except the two. Neville would often just watch them interact. Draco had been silent and shuttered at the beginning of their second year. Where Ron was loud and abrasive. Eventually, the two of them balanced out and Draco began stepping up to Ron, challenging him as they’d done their first year. 

Blaise was still as quiet and pensive as usual, but his sharp observations and careful speech gained him a lot of respect with all the houses. He’d tell the truth, not saving feelings, and do it so well that people were thanking him for his brutal honesty. He was the silent guardian, the rock for them all. 

And then there was Hermione. Though she hadn’t let her own grief cloud her academic ambitions, she’d loosen the reigns on her control enough to cry on Neville’s shoulder; they became tight friends. 

Neville, on the other hand, hadn’t changed much from his timid self. Even if he’d wished that he’d grown some backbone since his first year. His trip to the sewers tested his mettle, that was for sure. He’d helped to battle against the basilisk, and barely kept his life after it all. He wasn’t talented like Harry in spells, not smart like Hermione and Draco, not a brilliant tactician like Ron. So, this year, he’d have to create his own Self. But who was he? 

Third year had started relatively quiet. Neville had thrown himself into his studies and had done a lot of thinking and self-discovery. Madam Trelawny’s class revealed his knack for divination, but it was difficult to take the class seriously when the woman would go on and on about prophecies, Sight, and her grandmother. 

It wasn’t until he and Ron were leaving the classroom together that he realized the large crystal ball that Hermione had kicked sat precariously on the edge of the stairs. 

“Shouldn’t we bring this back to her?” Neville asked, pointing at the ball. Ron shook his shoulders and rolled his eyes. He knew that Ron hated this class, so he wouldn’t be too thrilled with sticking around any longer than he had to. “I’ll catch up later.”

Neville bent down and picked the ball up. He’d intended to place it just inside, the incense burning his eyes as soon as the door opened. He hadn’t gotten far when Trelawney grabbed at his arm, breathing harshly and making odd sounds in the back of her throat. 

"It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid and the greater power as he himself will be greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight... before midnight... the servant... will set out... to rejoin... his master..." 

Heart racing, Neville tried backing up, tried getting away from Trelawney’s harsh grip. 

She began choking, as if a fly had thrust itself down her throat, coughing and sputtering, drippy eyes looked upon Neville. Shaking and frightened, she leaned a bit closer. 

“I’m sorry, are you alright, dear?” 

“What was that?” Neville asked, finally able to back up after Trelawney released her grip. “The Dark Lord would rise again? What’s this greater power you were talking about?”

“Dark Lord? Rising again?” Trelawney jumped back, fear in her magnified eyes. “Good Circe’s Name, what are you going on about? What greater power are you talking about?” 

Neville shook his head. Was it possible the professor didn’t know what she’d just said? Maybe she had been in a sort of trance. 

Shivers running throughout his body, Neville shook his head and tried to dismiss what had just happened as a cruel joke. 

But the longer he thought about it, the more he became worried. The servant would rejoin his master. Rising again with his servant’s aid and the greater power. But what was that greater power? Maybe it was a who, making He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a more powerful wizard. Neville began sweating, his stomach souring at the thought that he might have to make a visit. There was no other teacher he could trust with this kind of thing. 

“Ron,” Neville whispered to his friend, interrupting the doodling in Binn’s class, “I need you lot to come with me.” Neville’s throat got dry, just thinking of who he intended to see. “We need to go to Snape.” 

Thankfully, Ron didn’t have the same fear of seeing the dreaded, prickly Potion’s Master. The red head nodded, then grabbed a coin out of his pocket and rubbed it. Neville could have done the same thing, but Ron typically had more concentration than Neville did.

Later, after dinner, the troupe made of green and red, made their way down to the dungeons. Neville repeated what he remembered of the, likely, prophecy. Ron took the lead, banging on the door until it flew open dramatically. Neville squeaked in terror. Would he ever get over the man? Likely not. He’d been irreparably scarred after second year. 

“Can I help you?” Severus’ voice was just as banal and put upon as usual. 

“We have something to tell you, let us in.” Ron demanded, Neville watched as Draco stepped up and looked imploringly up at Severus. 

“You have ten minutes before detention resumes.” Severus opened his office door wider and waited until everyone was inside. “Now, tell me why you thought it important to interrupt the only time I have to myself to-“

“The Dark Lord is coming back. Tonight.” Neville railroaded Severus’ speech. He knew that if he hadn’t interrupted the man, he’d take the entire ten minutes to bitch and complain. As it were, Severus’ mouth hung open, face growing impossibly pale. 

“You lie.” 

“I heard it. From Trelawney.” Neville took a breath and told Severus what he remembered of the prophecy. He knew he was forgetting the order of words, but he was able to recount the main message. “Hermione assures me that, even if she doesn’t really believe it, that this is a true prophecy. Not some blarney spouted over tea leaves.” 

For his part, Severus sat stock still behind his desk. Neville wasn’t even sure the man was breathing. But behind his cold, dull eyes, Neville could see the gears clicking. What was the man thinking? What was he plotting?

“I assume,” Severus stood, coming around the large desk. It was immaculately kept, not a single paper out of place. “that if you do not see adequate action from me you lot will continue on with your own research, likely putting yourselves or others in danger?”

“Please, sir,” Blaise spoke up, Neville looked back at the taller boy, his usually placid face etched with worry. “we wouldn’t be coming to you if we didn’t think it important.”

Severus huffed like a bull, collapsing his hands together and drawing a grim face. He looked over every single student, carefully and measured, Neville thought he was reminding himself how important they all were to Harry. 

The mien broke, Severus dropped his head and shook it. 

“What I am about to tell you does not stray from this group. I trust, on Harry’s name, you will tell no one. Not even Dumbledore.” Severus still wasn’t looking up, Neville knew he already made his decision, their compliance wasn’t needed. Mostly because they would honor his request. Severus began unbuttoning his left shirt sleeve. The many buttons slowing his reveal. And when the sleeve was completely up to his elbow, Neville and Ron gasped. “I was once a Death Eater. Because of Harry’s parent’s death, I changed my allegiance.” Severus was looking intently at Blaise and Draco. “I joined Dumbledore, but the mark had remained. It has been silent and still all these years since. Until today.

“Trelawney’s timing could not have come more conveniently. Whispers amongst my old circle have begun. They are trying to resurrect the Dark Lord by any means. It is said he has an heir, someone who will come to power soon if the Dark Lord does not, to finish what he started.”

Severus had pulled his sleeve down and buttoned it back up. Neville couldn’t believe that Snape was once a Death Eater. Both of his parents were Aurors, specifically one’s that tracked dark objects and sympathizers. So, Neville knew all about Death Eaters. The surprise came when Draco and Blaise did not react. Had they known? Are their family’s followers or sympathizers? It shouldn’t matter, right? The Dark Lord has been abandoned by his followers. 

“I implore you all, to do nothing.” Severus held his hand up against the arguing Ron and Hermione were already trying to start. “There is little anyone can do at the moment. Even with this prophecy, which I will bring to Dumbledore, we cannot be sure that it is actionable information.”

“Actionable information?” Ron nearly shouted. Neville’s ear hurt at the screeching voice. “It’s a bloody prophecy! Not some rumor amongst old friends. I don’t care that you were a Death Eater, Harry trusted you, and so do I. But if you’re going to tell Dumbledore the prophecy, then why can’t we let him know we know about you?” 

“Because I need to keep my identity.” Severus growled, growing impatient with them all. Neville realized that their ten minutes had been up for a while now. “I need this job to protect you lot!”

Severus’ voice waivered, but his stance hadn’t changed. Neville could see that the man’s eyes had grown depth to them, a shine he would rather not see. Because in those black pools was a grief so terrible Neville almost shattered. Harry’s friends have moved on, but not Severus Snape. 

Ron had the decency to step down. Draco and Hermione’s heads bowed, obviously not wanting to see the pain in their teachers’ eyes. 

“I promised myself I would protect him.” Severus’ voice was watery, a kind of anger behind his words. “I failed. I failed my boy, but I refuse to fail in this.” Severus looked like he wanted to collapse, but he chose to lean backwards against the desk. “You all are the only things left of him. And I refuse to lose that.” 

It all made sense, now. Neville couldn’t have been the only one to realize that Snape was on the five of them harsher than anyone else. Pushing the two Slytherins to study harder, giving punishing homework to Hermione, Ron, and he. All of it was about survival, identifying potions through other senses than sight, the best ways to counteract poisons. 

“You won’t lose us,” Neville spoke slow and soft, it felt like the balm that Severus needed. What they all needed. “You’ve been teaching us too well for that.” 

They all disembarked quietly. Severus was left in his office to regroup and collect himself. Neville thought that he’d never be surprised by the man. But his confessions tore down those beliefs. 

Severus had been a Death Eater. He’d denounced himself from the Dark and came to the Light. And if it was because of the death of Harry’s parents, Neville thought he knew a bit better why Severus had been paying attention to Harry and his safety. Why he was always quick to stop the rowdy six of them from getting into trouble. 

Neville and the rest of The Five hadn’t left the prophecy alone. Hermione, Blaise, and Draco scoured all of Europe’s newspapers and periodicals. They weren’t going to miss a single, solitary sign of the dark wizards’ return. But nothing had come of it. 

The rest of the year had been quiet. 

Neville had finally passed Potions, bucking up to ask for extra lessons. Severus had always directed his more talented seventh and sixth years to help Neville, but it was as good as anything. Severus never allowed extra homework outside of punishments. 

Hermione’s extra classes had finally taken everything out of her. She swore off reading books throughout the summer. Which Neville thought she had been keeping her word as she’d been writing more to him. 

Blaise and Draco had actually come to visit him. The two Slytherins welcomed into the Longbottom home with open arms. Neville’s parents were enamored with the two of them since his first year. Neville was embarrassed to be caught out in singing their praises. 

The summer was quiet, too, up until Neville had been invited by Draco to join his family to the Quidditch World Cup. He had been excited, but he thought of Harry the entire time. Harry would have loved attending the World Cup. The boy had always been amazed by magic, even if he had been able to wield it himself. They ran into Ron and his family where he’d finally been able to meet Charlie Weasley. 

Prior to the match, Neville had asked Charlie everything about quidditch he could think of. Charlie had admitted to having been trying to get home to watch a Slytherin match just to see Harry play. 

“Ron wouldn’t shut up about him,” Charlie said, breath smelling like Meade. Neville was taken by the older boy, erm, man. He was big and brawly, perfect size for wrestling dragons, not playing seeker. Neville hoped he could be that big one day. Trade his lingering baby fat for swarthy muscles. “I’d see a couple of pictures, but even wizarding photos didn’t do the boy justice, so I’ve been told.”

Neville was drawn away from Charlie just as they had been talking about different plants and dragons of Romania. Draco muttering about beating the swelling crowds at the entrances. 

“We’ll talk later, mate.” Charlie waived enthusiastically. “Promise!”

Later would happen after the Death Eater attack on the campers of the World Cup. They had the decency to attack after the game was over, likely because they were in attendance as well. But the fact that there were families huddling in frightened groups boiled Neville’s blood. 

The masked men and women went through the camps, tearing apart tents and families. Neville had only hoped that no one would die because of this attack. Draco had been pressed to find cover and look for Ron. They’d bumped into the twins and Ginny, but there was no Ron. 

“I have to find him.” Draco was desperate. “He’s got to be okay.” 

“He will be,” Neville hissed as a red bolt of a curse whizzed past his ear. “He’s an excellent dueler. It’s us I’m worried about.” 

Draco hadn’t been able to calm until he saw Ron later. The screaming had died down as many people either ran for the forest or apparated away. Hermione was with Ron, face marked with dirt and a bit of blood, though it didn’t look like it was hers. Draco was nearly sobbing in Ron’s arms, muttering angry words into the other boys’ chest. 

“It’s not over,” Neville said to his friends. “We have to find cover.”

Just then, a man came stumbling out of the tree line, where Draco and he had run into some French girls. He hoped they were okay. 

The man hadn’t seen them, but Neville could tell he was smiling maniacally. Wand in the air he shouted with glee, “Morsmorde!” 

Severus’ coin had been burning hot in his hand for over an hour. Yet no words scribbled across its face. He couldn’t tell who it was, but it had to be one of The Five. And considering that he’d heard from the grapevine that campers at the Quidditch World Cup had been attacked by rogue Death Eaters, he was instantly worried for at least four of them. Blaise, he knew, was vacationing in Bolivia with his mother and grandparents. 

Steeling his heart against bad news, Severus kept the coin in his hand as he went about his business. His Dark Mark had been growing hotter and itchier. It was definitely a sign that someone of the Inner Circle was stirring up business. But he hadn’t been notified, nor had he heard any whispers, of any meetings or congregations. He’d even tried reaching out to Lucius and a Yaxley about any happenings. But he’d been completely rebuffed. 

The only strange and worrying thing was the escape of a handful of prisoners of Azkaban. All had been rounded up except for two men. One who was a convicted, but minor Death Eater, the other was Sirius Black.

The heir to the Black name wasn’t a worry of his. Black was likely deranged and would likely be unable to string a single clarifying thought, much less hunt Severus down and curse him. 

All okay. The buzzing coin in Severus’ hand said. No casualties. Talk later.

The shuddering breath was a relief. He was only thirty-four, he should not be having these chest pains of worry. 

You’d better. Severus sent to The Five. He had to continue with his efforts of the Tri Wizard Tournament that was coming up. He was going to be so happy to see the sullen faces of The Five once told that they wouldn’t be old enough to enter. Ron and Neville were so wanting to be seen as talented wizards that it was no skin off his teeth to know that Dumbledore had listened to reason to restrict the age of the contestants. 

“Severus, my boy,” Albus stood excitedly, opening his arms wide to receive Severus into his office. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?” 

“Just fine, Headmaster,” Severus bit out. He hated when Albus would call him by that pet name. He was a grown adult, an accomplished Potions Master, and a fairly reputable instructor at Hogwarts. “I’ve got my suggestions for the final trial.”

Handing over the length of parchment for Dumbledore’s perusal, Severus noticed that the Daily Prophet lay open to the front page. Sirius Black’s prison photograph was shouting silently up at the ceiling. 

“Did you have anything to do with this?” Severus pointed to the paper. At their most recent Order of the Phoenix meeting, Black himself had sat near the head of the table, looking haggard and just a little mad. Pity, Severus had thought then, though maybe Black can prove to be just as dedicated to the ‘greater good’ as he had been before. 

“Of course not.” Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “A handful of other criminals have found their release alongside Sirius. And you do remember I was the one to press for Sirius to go to the authorities and turn himself in.”

Scoffing, Severus decided to take the offered seat in front of Dumbledore. The office hadn’t changed in decades. The sweets on his desk may have, but nothing else had even shifted in the long years. 

“Thank you for taking the age restriction seriously.” Severus folded his ankle over his leg, robes splaying open. “I fear a certain pair of Gryffindor’s would have struggled to get one name in.”

“Don’t underestimate those two,” Dumbledore leaned back in his high-back chair. Severus scrutinized Dumbledore’s movements. The man was getting old. “They will find some way to attempt to get through.” Dumbledore chuckled. 

It was a few days before the beginning of school. Students weren’t due to arrive yet, but Severus was nearly biting at the bit to lay his eyes on his favorite five. Through the charmed coins that Hermione and Draco had created, they’d all been able to keep appraised of their summer situations without the use of owls. Though only a few words at a time could scroll through like a marquee. 

Since the Death Eater attacks, Neville and the others had kept their heads down and restricted their outings unless they were with adults. It was the smartest plan Neville Longbottom had come up with. But until he could verify the physical safety of the students, Severus would continue feeling like the oven was left on. The pulsing headaches never ceasing. 

“I am requesting lighter syllabi for my class. I don’t want to be spending any of my free time monitoring students who would rather be tittering about the tournament.” Severus sighed, accepting his fate to an increase of detentions. 

“Though, I suspect, your essays will require more study and writing?” Dumbledore chuckled again. “Of course. You aren’t the only one requesting the change. But, please, don’t overload yourself or the students with your new habits.” 

“New habits?” Severus asked, a brow lifting curiously. 

“I see what you’ve been doing, Severus.” Dumbledore sat forward, piercing his cool blue eyes on Severus. “The assignments, the shift in coursework. Fire deterrents was hardly an inspiring bit of potion making.” 

“Survival comes with preparedness.” Severus stood, body aching in the remnants of his hangover. “I would rather a dull class that could save a student rather than the ever-exciting hour of potion making to clear warts.” 

“You teach a potions class for remedies and medicinal uses. Don’t forget what your goal should be.” Dumbledore’s voice held a bit of edge, but Severus was feeling a bit masochistic today.

“My goal is the protection of my students.” He made quick strides towards the door. “If I cannot be there, then they will have the arsenal I’ve taught them at their command.” 

Slamming the door had never felt so good. This hadn’t been the first time Dumbledore had suggested just how changed Severus was after Harry’s death. Though his words have never been made to cut to the bone, Severus felt flayed all the same. 

He prayed to any deity that this year would leave The Five alone. They’d already been through so much, that anything to do with the Tournament would damage what has already been repaired. 

Severus should have known that prayer alone would not have worked. He had watched in blind terror as Neville Longbottom’s name had been called from the Goblet of Fire. 

“Neville Longbottom!” Dumbledore repeated after he hadn’t stood up. Neville was the fourth Champion’s name to be spewed from the Goblet. Including the fact that he was underage, Neville’s grades reflected that he was woefully unprepared for the tasks designed to test adults. 

“Neville, get up.” Hermione pushed him out of his seat. He looked back at his friends, feeling more than a bit faint. And wouldn’t that be something, passing out in the middle of the Great Hall in front of three entire schools. 

Slow, shaking steps took Neville closer towards Dumbledore. He couldn’t help but first to look at his Head of House, her worried brown eyes offering her condolences. Then, for some reason instinct wouldn’t reveal, Neville found Severus Snape’s eyes. Shadowed in a paler face than usual, Severus’ black eyes tracked his every movement. 

He was glad for the wracked reaction from the usually calm and collected teacher. It meant that Neville wasn’t overreacting to being called as the fourth Champion. 

“You’ll have to study hard,” Severus said in a hurried voice. He fluttered around his personal library dragging textbooks from his bookshelf. Neville had never been inside the man’s chambers. “and practice. This tournament is designed to test even the most talented student. People have been known to die or disappear from this tournament.” 

“No different than quidditch, then.” Neville said nervously. He was recalling the first time Harry had announced he had been allowed to play as a first year, Fred and George had teased him mercilessly about the casualties of a game. 

“THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER!” Severus rounded on Neville. He jumped, but he hadn’t squeaked, Neville would take the minor wins where he could. Severus had paused in his search for books and volumes of text that could help to run a shaking hand through his limp hair. “It’s obvious that either an older student or an adult had put your name in the Goblet. And they’re no friend of yours.”

Neville’s breath caught. Would someone put Neville’s name in the Goblet, hoping that the trials would kill him? But who would want that? Sure, some odd things had happened around he and his friends. A group of Death Eaters had shown up to a game he had attended, and then there was the prophecy from last year. Which still hadn’t come to fruition. 

A quiet gasp erupted from Severus’ lips. Neville looked up to his most feared, and dedicated, teacher. The hand in his hair was gripping his head in pain. 

“Your migraines?” Neville asked quietly. He and his friends had known that Severus had been suffering from migraines and headaches for a few years now. Always random. Lasting anywhere from seconds to minutes. No amount of pain potion helped for it usually was gone by the time Severus put a vial to his lips. 

“I’ll be fine.” Severus took a couple of deep breaths. “It’s already gone.” Shaking fingers wiped at his brow, sweat being wicked by the hem of his robes. “They’ve been coming more often. Varying degrees of pain. And no bloody mediwizard or witches can tell me why they’re occurring.” 

“Maybe it’s stress?” Neville tried adding helpfully. But the mediwizard and witches would have suggested some calming exercises. Thankfully, Severus didn’t answer back with acid on his tongue. He’d only glared balefully at Neville, who didn’t even shirk under the look. 

“Nothing has worked thus far.” Severus said in a quieter voice than a whisper. His gaze blurred to a sullen distance. Like he was seeing something too far away and through Neville. “I’ve been keeping up my regimen of mental exercises. But the blasted things are so random, it’s difficult to block any of it.”

Neville gave a sympathetic smile. He didn’t know what it was like to have a migraine. He’d heard from Blaise just how painful they could be. There were often times that the other boy would have to cloister himself away into a dark room with no sound when potions didn’t work. 

Thinking of the Slytherin gave Neville an idea. He hoped he wasn’t stretching the tenuous friendship he and Severus had at the moment. 

“Any area of my skills I should be buffing up on, you know, to pass this year?” 

Severus looked up. And in a rare, nonexistent occurrence, did the man smile. Neville thought he finally saw the reason why Harry had been able to exploit the man on several occasions. Smiling, Severus looked carefree and not weighted down by the world.

Dragons and mermaids be damned, this bloody maze would do Neville in. The Black Lake was perhaps the easiest trial to complete. Given his broad knowledge of plants and herbs. Gilly weed had been only the best solution to his lack of keeping a bubble head charm. 

Now, though, Neville was fighting for his life against a raging Devil’s Snare. He’d temporarily forgotten the light charm to banish the vines. But when he finally got up, he noticed that Cedric Diggory had sprinted right past him. 

Thanks to Draco and Ron pushing Neville to exercise and bolster up physically, Neville quickly caught up to Cedric. Though, he couldn’t overtake him. That was, until Cedric tripped. Neville jumped right over him, nearly avoiding a swarm of biting Cornish Pixies. 

He turned the hedges’ corner, nearly spraining his ankle in the sharp turn, and saw a faint glowing light. The cup! Neville’s legs were burning, weak and noodle like, but he couldn’t give up. Not even if he were to puke his lungs out, which was exactly what he wanted to do. 

“No!” Cedric yelled behind him, Neville pushed harder, ignoring his staggering stride. “It’s mine!” 

Neville saw Cedric’s hand out of the corner of his eye. As quickly as he could, Neville lifted his own hand, lungs burning, head buzzing, and gripped the ornate handle tightly. The faint buzz of victory overtaken by a none-too-gentle tug behind his navel. Neville felt himself be pulled through a tube. His breath stolen from him through the port key, it was no shock that he ended up on his face when they’d reached the other side. Neither had expected to be port-keyed somewhere.

Gasping and choking on air and spittle, Cedric Diggory rolled to his feet. Neville bemoaned the older boys’ stamina. It must come from playing quidditch. Neville thought distantly as he caught his breath. 

The lack of crowds cheering made Neville lift up his head. Looking around he begun to take in the dark surroundings. Shadowed figures standing tall and statuesque filled his vision. The glow of a fire illuminated the mausoleum guardians. Neville gulped. He was so not ready for this next trial. 

“It’s a cemetery.” Cedric said, just as confused as Neville. “Is this another test?” 

“Wot?” Neville was still trying to catch his breath. “A battle to the death?” 

Neville looked over to where Cedric was standing. They locked eyes for a split second before grinning. It was insane to think that a tiebreaker would land them in the middle of nowhere for a head to head duel. Cedric must have found the entertainment in that thought, because he began to laugh. Neville watched with exhausted relief when Cedric bent over to grasp his stomach in his manic glee.

“Avada Kadavera.” A hard voice echoed across the small clearing. Green flashed before Neville’s eyes. Cedric hadn’t even twitched before he was collapsing, grin still plastered on his face. 

It was like a slow-motion movie Neville had once watched with Hermione last summer. Neville ducked and turned, legs still feeling like jelly. But for the fire in front of him, there was a giant caldron bubbling and simmering something grey and chunky. Neville didn’t afford it any other thought. His complete attention was taken by the figure with a twisted and bleach white wand in his hand. Arm raised and outstretched, his black robes billowed around him. 

His breath was stolen as green eyes as bright as that curse pierced him, pinning him to the spot. A nasty spiders’ web scar engraved into his forehead, dipping into his hairline, cutting through his eyebrow. As if he were a broken china doll. As if a real bolt of lightning struck him. Dark wild hair was gathered at the back of his head. He barely reached Neville’s chin, but he was there. In the flesh. 

With a dry mouth, Neville whispered, disbelieving his eyes. 

“Harry.”


	5. A Second Dark Lord

“Harry.” 

His name barely carried to him. Neville Longbottom. Who would have thought the boy would be shaped into a tall, albeit still pudgy, boy. His eyes and chin were still the same, but he’d grown into his nose and awkward frame. 

“Sorry, Neville,” Harry’s voice carried across the small clearing. It was flat and constricted. The chill in the air as cold as he was inside. “it won’t be long, now.”

He’d spent so long preparing for this night. All the studying, the etiquette, building his physical strength and magic just for this night. It was exhilarating to think that he was finally going to be free. 

Neville struggled against his bonds as soon as Harry cast the spell. Neville’s voice taken by the fear that swelled around his body. Harry could nearly taste it. Sharp and acrid, a bit spicy. He’d grown familiar with the greasiness of it. 

“Quiet, boy.” Peter Pettigrew ordered. Though, the man had no conviction behind his voice, the coward. At least Harry knew how to command. 

Harry was watching Pettigrew work, the rat-man scurrying about gathering the final ingredients, speaking in Latin as he dropped a femur into the pot. Neville continued to struggle, throwing his body against the stone statue. Nobody had been able to escape any of Harry’s bindings. Invisible or corporeal, Harry’s spells were strong. 

“Blood,” Pettigrew withdrew a ceremonial knife, and stalked his way towards Neville. Harry could do nothing but watch. “forcibly taken, you will revive your enemy.” 

Neville cried out, but not as loud as Harry thought he would. 

“A vessel,” Pettigrew raised his voice, talking towards Harry, “willingly sacrificed, you will strengthen your master.”

In the dark, Harry wished that he could say more to Neville. To ask about Severus or any of his other friends. Though, after so long, they were bound to have moved on, right? Whatever Harry thought he could see from Neville’s wide, fevered eyes, he couldn’t see where their old bonds of friendship had been. 

“Goodbye, Neville.” Harry bade quietly. However, Neville must have been able to hear, because he began shouting, screaming for Harry to stop. Harry was glad that after these four years with Death Eaters, he’d become a master of his emotions. He’d hate for even Pettigrew to know he always had a soft spot for Neville.

As quickly as he could, Harry dipped his hands into the sludge, which had turned a deep red and was roiling after Neville’s blood had been added. There was a lot of pain, heat tore its way up his arms and overtook his entire being. Harry didn’t remember screaming, he didn’t even remember if he’d collapsed under the weight of another person in his body. But the cold chill of the Dark Lord quickly replaced the burning heat. 

His nerves were frazzled, his body twitched jerkily as another consciousness attempted to take control. Harry knew that he was meant to give up his body for the Dark Lord, but something was wrong. Something was off. He could see perfectly clear, even without his glasses. He felt like he was wearing a large, starched suit, stiff and unwieldy. 

“Neville Longbottom,” Harry’s voice rang with another’s. It was strange to vaguely feel the Other moving his body. “We meet at last.”

Their voices mixed together in an odd sort of way that it hurt his throat. 

“What happened?” Neville asked, clearly confused. Harry could see whatever it was the Dark Lord wanted to see. So he was able to tell that the cut on Neville’s arm was still flowing freely. Harry hoped that the wound would staunch soon. Otherwise Neville could bleed out and become another casualty of the Dark Lord. 

“All in due time, Longbottom.” Voldemort’s voice began surging in his throat. It hurt, like trying to swallow a rose stem backwards. But the Dark Lord paid no mind. “Pettigrew, hold out your arm.”

They turned to look at Pettigrew, sniveling in the dark away from the fire. Beady eyes tracked their body, Harry’s body, and crawled forward with one bloody stump of an arm. 

“Oh!” Pettigrew cried out, “Thank you Master!” 

“Your other arm.” Harry had rolled his eyes, his body’s eyes, his voice coming out instead of Voldemort’s. Even he had known what the dark wizard meant. 

The Dark Mark was revealed, Harry’s body salivating at the thought of gathering and seeing his true followers tonight. Voldemort pressed the stylized-bone wand to Pettigrew’s forearm, calling forth the horde. 

Within seconds, a few Death Eaters apparated, as if they’d been waiting in the wing for the summons. Harry already knew that some of the Death Eaters had wanted to hang back whilst Harry and Pettigrew completed the potion. He could even see Lucius Malfoy’s mask among the first to arrive. 

“My dear followers,” Voldemort spoke for them, he could feel a nasty grin spread on his face. “thank you, for coming so quickly.” A few others arrived as he talked. Harry could feel the man’s ire at being interrupted. “Thirteen long years it’s been. And I am – DISAPPOINTED!”

Lightning crackled from Harry’s fingertips. Instinctual fear gripped Harry’s chest. Did the Dark Lord not know how wild Harry’s magic still was? If he wasn’t careful, their magic could blow up in their face, literally. 

Harry recalled a time in his training when he’d gotten upset at being punished for not acting fast enough that lightning shot from his fingers. He couldn’t stop the magic before a bolt struck his face, completely overwriting the small comic-style bolt on his forehead. The mark took up most of his upper face, etching partly into his brow and into his hairline. Which was likely what caught Neville’s attention about his person instead of the lack of his glasses. 

“IT SHOULD NOT HAVE TAKEN THIS LONG TO-“ Harry could feel his body shake, as if something was trying to tear him apart down the middle. Harry wanted to scream, wanted to flop on the ground, but at least Voldemort was stronger than he. “But we are here nonetheless, aren’t we, Crabbe, Avery, MacNair, and… Malfoy,” Voldemort paused, withdrawing his anger at the other  
Death Eaters. “you’ve raised our little lamb well, haven’t you? I can feel the dark magic in him.”

Harry shuddered, internally of course, at the mention of how much dark magic had consumed his body over the years. It was hell on Harry and his nerves, constantly pushed and often times prodded to continue his dark arts training. His hands and soul were completely stained, now. He only hoped that his own consciousness would disappear soon. To be gobbled up by Voldemort’s greed and – 

“How dare you!” Neville was shouting. “You killed him! Just when I thought we had him back.”

Neville’s words sped Harry’s heart up. Is that what he thought? And who was ‘we’?

“Ah! Neville,” Voldemort zeroed in on the struggling boy. “I had almost forgotten about you.” Harry could feel the man’s excitement at finally getting the boy alone. Harry knew how often Lucius or the others had attempted to kill Neville. He’d been there for every meeting. "You have been taught how to duel. Neville Longbottom? We bow to each other, Neville. Come, the niceties must be observed… Dumbledore would like you to show manners… Bow to death, Neville…."

Harry’s body moved through casting the Imperious Curse, forcing Neville to stand and bow. When Neville was released, Harry watched as Voldemort tried curse after curse to kill Neville or trip him up. Harry knew every single spell that was being cast. His tutors hadn’t skipped a single favorite of the Dark Lord’s. 

Neville, for his part, ducked and dove behind headstones and mausoleums. Harry hoped beyond hope that Neville wouldn’t be struck. Or, if he did, that it killed him quickly. If any of the tutors Harry had were anything to go by, he knew that Voldemort enjoyed torture. 

“Come out, Neville,” Voldemort gasped, pushing through the same pain as before. The awful feeling of being torn apart from the inside swelled again. There was another bout of searing pain that put them on their knees. This time, Harry’s shout of agonizing pain rung out from his throat. Voldemort’s voice being drowned out by Harry. 

Out of the corner of Harry’s eye, as he was in charge of his body now, he could see Neville making a break for Cedric Diggory’s body and summoned the port key to him. Harry was proud of Neville, even if the boy watched with dread at Harry’s body flopping on the ground like a landed fish. 

Before Neville’s hand could even grasp the cup, he was able to see Harry and Voldemort splitting into two again. Landing in a miserable heap of pain. 

Severus stood anxiously, waiting, like the rest of the crowd, for the return of the one Champion. Neville and the Diggory boy had yet to throw up their red sparks or be carted off the field unconscious. He kept cutting his glances towards the rest of The Five, they just as nervous as Severus felt inside. 

“They’ve just passed the Cornish Pixies,” an announcer was giving a live account of the remaining Champions, the crowd cheered when hearing how close the last two contestants were to the end prize. 

“He’ll make it, Professor.” Hermione sidled up to Severus, speaking calmly and with conviction. “Neville hasn’t trained for this long to lose now.” 

Severus didn’t bother reacting to the girl’s beliefs. It had only been a couple of months of true training for Neville. Although not anything close to being considered an athlete, Severus could admit how far the boy had come. However, anything could go wrong. Although Severus didn’t know the layout of the maze, he did know how many undesirable challenges there were. He’d helped to create some of them. 

Ron and the others had come nearer to where Severus stood, all of them painted with ‘NL’ on their faces, red and gold paraphernalia adorned their clothes. Even Ginny Weasley had joined the group, following them around like a dedicated fan. 

“Diggory overtakes Longbottom! Both running, sprinting, striding towards – YES! They found the Cup. Longbottom skirts past Diggory! They’ve both got their hands out! And – where did they go?” 

Fear twisted in Severus’ chest tightly. The Cup was a port key. It should have brought the winner directly here. In front of the gathered crowd. Simultaneously, everyone looked to the sky to find any fading tails of red sparks. 

Nothing. 

“Where is he?” Severus ground out. His heartbeat picked up, eyes casting around for the Aurors who had been in attendance for each trial. They were scuttling about like disturbed ants, looking for an enemy they couldn’t see. “Something is wrong.” Severus put his hands up to keep his favorite students in their seats. “Stay here.”

It was an order. He’d be damned if something happened to them so quickly after Neville had disappeared. 

Striding purposefully across the clearing, Severus pulled up behind Dumbledore as the Aurors were confirming they didn’t know where both of the students went. 

“Do you think, Severus?” Dumbledore asked lowly, quieter than the Aurors could hear. Severus knew what the old man was asking. Could it be Voldemort?

“I’m unsure.” Severus answered honestly. Since being confronted by a nearly manic Karkaroff in his supplies room, Severus hadn’t felt any summons or actions from his Dark Mark. Even the Russians’ Mark was more active than his own, darker, redder on the edges. Angry looking. “We must secure the children here. Keep a panic from setting in.”

“Agreed.” Grunted Alastair. “Mad Eye” himself prowled the edges of the maze. Severus couldn’t help but think that the action wouldn’t be helping any. “More Auror’s are on the way. The Minister will be protected as well.”

He could care less what happened to Fudge, who was in attendance for the final trial. What mattered to Severus was the protection of a certain group five students. He hadn’t been near as careful at showing his leniency for his favorites as he had Harry. The five of them received extra praise, less points taken, and more direction in class. Even if he tried to say things loud enough for the rest of the class to hear when asked questions during brewing. They were his favorites; they were his beloved students. And for one to go missing in this way. 

A burning, searing pain overtook Severus. Gritting his teeth, his right hand came up to grab at Dumbledore’s cloak. The man’s cerulean eyes calculating. 

“Stay.” Dumbledore demanded. “I need you here.” 

Severus nodded. Someone, someone strong, has just called him. Black eyes searched for Igor, the man looked to be hiding his own pain. No, Severus thought, no, he can’t be back. 

More Aurors arrived. The crowds of students and parents and officials began tittering, mouths moving a mile a minute to speculate on what was going on. But if the pain in Severus’ left arm was any indication, things were going to be getting very bad very soon. His lack of attendance would not win Severus any points with the Dark Lord when he was allowed to leave. Hopefully, this was nothing. Hopefully, this was only the beginning of a plan. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” The announcer spoke through his Sonorus charm, “please remain calm, I’ve just been informed that the two Champions—” 

Before he could say anything further, a grinding ‘pop’ threw Neville Longbottom, Cedric Diggory, and the Cup onto the ground at a few Aurors feet. Severus still could not convince himself to breath. He had to check on the boy before he could relax. But soon, there was an eruption of cheers and applause. What got Severus out of his stupor was the ugly sobbing of Neville, moaning as if in pain.

“He-he’s back. Voldemort’s back!” Neville shouted over the crowd. He tried looking for those now familiar black eyes. When he found them, he tried begging with his eyes. Severus was still nailed to the spot, unbelieving. “He’s back!”

Through the throngs of crowds, Severus pressed his way towards Cedric’s body and Neville. The panicked look on Neville’s face one of the few times Severus had allowed his emotions to overwhelm him. Usually calm and controlled to the point of being frigid, Severus rushed to Neville, falling to his knees before anyone else could get to them. 

“What?” Severus asked, the crowd quieting their cheer, turning to gasps of shock and cries of anguish. “What happened?”

“The Dark Lord,” Neville was sobbing now, the boy looked about to pass out, “he’s back. And – it’s Harry. Harry is alive.”

Neville could see the confusion on Severus’ face, spreading slowly across his features. The man’s eyes began to widen, information trying to be absorbed. Severus shook his head minutely, dumbstruck.

“Come,” Severus’ voice was barely a whisper, cold as ice, the man wrapped his arm and cloak around Neville, hearing the approach of the rest of The Five. Gritting his teeth, Severus gave a feather light charm to Neville, trying to guide him through and out of the crowds. Severus could hear the wailings of a father mourning his only child behind him. “Let’s get you safe.” 

Aurors followed the six of them up to the castle, Severus was appreciative, because he could barely think at the moment. His head had gone fuzzy, a migraine spiking painfully and nearly blindingly. The two of them staggered, but Blaise was there to steady them. 

When they came to McGonagalls’ office, Severus tore open the door and sent a Patronus to let the witch know they’d be there. She was Head of House for Gryffindor; she should be here to help her own students. Right? It was in their handbook. 

What wasn’t in the teacher handbook, was how to deal with the second rising of the Dark Lord, and the resurrection of a recently deceased student. 

“Harry,” Severus whispered, throat tight. Aurors took up guard at the door, the inner chamber filled with the six of them and Alastair. “What about Harry? Are you sure it was him?”

Neville was silent, shaking and in a stupor. Severus looked down on the boy, sat in Minerva’s seat. He was bleeding. Shit. Severus ignored his want, his need, to know if Neville truly saw his boy to help him. 

Kneeling on the ground, Severus cast a charm on Neville, calming his nerves and hoping to stifle the shock. The boy’s adrenaline must have been so high, it took a few more charms to get Neville to stop shaking. He’d finally located the source of the bleeding. It looked like a knife wound. It wasn’t deep, but it had cut into a blood vessel. 

“Hold still, Neville.” Severus hovered his wand over the wound, he wished he had his potions. Charms could only work so well. Neville still had not looked like he was ready to say anything yet. “This will sting, but the pain will be gone shortly.”

A couple of mutters saw to it that the flesh began stitching together. Severus only knew enough to stop bleedings, and occasionally, stitch up wounds. The bruising and other injuries would have to be attended to by Poppy. 

“He was there.” Neville begun, quietly, sounding far away. Severus looked up into Neville’s eyes, it was like he was looking right through Severus. “Harry, he – I don’t know if he killed Cedric, I don’t think it was him he couldn’t have.” 

“Where?” Severus wanted to shout, wanted to drag the information out of Neville. But the poor boy had already been through enough. “Was he okay?”

“At a cemetery, I don’t know where. He looked fine. A new scar, no glasses,” the smaller bits of information didn’t seem like anything Severus wanted to hear. But he’d also logged it all away, shuttering it up to be looked at later. “He helped bring him back. Harry and another man. He put his hands in a cauldron, and then it was like, Harry was gone, but his body was there. I don’t know what kind of – I don’t know what happened. But it was the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was possessing Harry.

“But, before I left, they split. They – I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.” Neville broke down into tears. 

The boy was curled up on himself, sobbing quietly into his hands. Severus caught the boy before he could fall completely forward and out of the chair. Awkwardly, arms came up to surround the boy. 

Severus could hear himself offering platitudes, something that sounded foreign, even to his own ears. But Neville was going to be okay. He was safe. His friends were here. His parents likely on the way to the castle as they spoke. 

“Harry’s alive.” Draco muttered. Severus could see the blond just over Neville’s shoulder, looking just as bewildered as the rest of them. Severus hadn’t realized The Five and a couple of Aurors were inside the office. Alastair was the only one looking pensive, absorbing the information and calculating every angle. “I can’t believe it. All this time.”

Draco looked to Blaise. The two Slytherins gave each other knowing looks. Severus knew those looks. Both boys come from Dark families. Blaise’s father had died in the first war, his mother somehow getting out of being convicted a Death Eater. Though, if her self-removal from Britain was any indication, she may have been telling the truth about having no choice in the family’s allegiance. 

The Malfoy’s on the other hand, were definitely a Dark family. Severus couldn’t count how many times Lucius would show their old circle just how beautiful and strong Draco was. How intelligent he eventually became. All for the Dark Lord. 

The conversation between the two, would have been coming to the conclusion that Harry had been with the Death Eaters this whole time. Draco looked just as stricken about the news of Harry being alive just as the rest of them. Ron’s strong presence beside Draco spoke of where the boy’s loyalties may decide to go. 

“We need to get him back.” Blaise’s voice was the loudest and strongest Severus had ever heard it. Usually reserved and soft, Blaise may have been lining out what side of the line he was choosing. “Bring him back and get justice against whoever took him.” 

“Exactly,” Ron’s arm brushed against Draco’s. Severus thought that the Weasley might be offering either support or asking the blond to stand with them. “If he’s with the Death Eaters, there’s no telling what is happening to him.”

“That’s enough.” Dumbledore’s voice cut in. Severus caught himself swearing under his breath. While the children were rallying to get Harry back, Severus was calculating his chances at being enfolded back into the Inner Circle and find out how securely Harry was being kept. “Neither of you are going to be doing anything.

“What we need to focus on now, is Neville’s recovery and the memorial for Cedric Diggory. On top of that, you will let the Aurors do their jobs and investigate if that was indeed Harry Potter.” 

“OF COURSE IT WAS! I SAW HIM! He even called me by my name. Told me goodbye before he put his hands into that cauldron.” Neville shivered and turned white, then green. “He was screaming, he was fighting against the Dark Lord. You didn’t see his face. You didn’t hear his voice. You weren’t there.” 

Hermione knelt next to Severus and Neville and stroked the boy’s back. To Severus’ horror, he still hadn’t released Neville, though, thankfully, he was a respectful distance away from Severus’ cradling arms. 

“I had not been there, Neville, you’re right.” Dumbledore walked into the office, Minerva behind him drying her tears. Alastair was suspiciously quiet, charmed eye wildly taking everything in. “But I think we should be cautious of our next actions before they get him killed. If the Death Eaters believe that he’s one of them, then he is safe. For now. Convincing Voldemort would have to be Potter’s next challenge. For if they were meant to be bound in one body, as you observed, then there may not be any more use of Potter than the Dark Lord believes.”

“You’re saying Harry could be killed?” Draco paled; eyes wide. “For what? Not being what that wizard expects?”

“It is precisely what could happen.” Severus finally released Neville into Hermione’s care. He stood up on shaking legs, still not fully capable of understanding what he’d been hearing. “The Dark Lord would want to try again. There is a reason why Harry had been kept alive for so long. Harry is smart. He’ll find ways to stay alive.”

“He might not be the boy you once knew, Severus.” Dumbledore cautioned. Though it sounded dangerously like he was trying to dissuade him. “It’s been years since you’ve last seen him.”

“Three years, twenty-eight days, and sixteen hours, Albus.” Severus growled, wanting to throw hexes at Dumbledore’s face. “I would like to make sure his captivity does not stretch much further.”

“How do you propose that?” Alastair finally grunted. The man had been silently taking in everything, Severus knew that the ex-Auror had to have more than a few ideas. 

“I’ll go back in.” Severus said immediately. With conviction. Not taking his eyes off of Dumbledore.

“No!” Draco broke in, Severus kept his eye contact with the older wizard. “You can’t. They’ll –” 

“I know very well what they will do to me when I go back.” Severus glared at Dumbledore, daring the old man to deny him this. “I wasn’t there for him once. I’m not going to let him be alone now.” 

The room was silent. Dumbledore looked like he was itching to know how exactly Draco was aware of Severus’ spying. The Potions Master knew that Dumbledore couldn’t have known yet everything he told the children. Exposing them to any level of the truth may disillusion them to the older wizards’ strength. 

Cold, sharp eyes tried cutting into Severus. He knew that Dumbledore wanted to break into his mind and expose just how much of the truth he’d revealed. But Severus’ shield was up and the strongest they’d ever been. Even the migraine had dissipated. 

“On one condition.” Dumbledore raised a knowing finger. Throwing in all his chips it was, then. “The children join the Order.” 

Severus paled, losing all his wind. Not his students. 

“Recruiting minors, I see. I believe that is their decisions to make. Especially if you are considering Misters Zabini and Malfoy.” 

Dumbledore hadn’t winced at Draco’s name. At least he knew what was on the line by letting in two children from Dark families. 

“I believe they’ve already chosen their side.” Dumbledore nodded to the children over Severus’ shoulder. 

Turning, he saw Blaise standing straight, shoulders back with the most intense looking face Severus had ever seen. The most surprising action taken by the two was Draco allowing himself to be wrapped up in Ronald Billeus Weasley’s arms. Those long, gangly limbs providing the strength to stand where Draco looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Conviction and something else blazing bright in his silver eyes. 

“Minors they may be, Severus.” Dumbledore stood back on his heels, rocking knowingly, a smug look about him. “But I believe The Chosen One would be enough to bring an end to the war.”

Harry was thrown to the ground for the umpteenth time that day. His elbows and wrist couldn’t take much more of this. He needed a reprieve to heal his wounds. But none came as he could feel more blows coming, more curses being delivered to him. 

“That’s enough!” the chilling voice called in the hall. Every single Death Eater held their breath, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Cowards. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, my pet.”

“I thought that was Rowle who was hexing me.” Harry squinted, slowly peeling himself up from the familiar stone floor. “But, then again, that limp dick couldn’t even –”

A right hook landed solidly on Harrys’ jaw. Something broke inside and he cussed internally. Bolts of red and yellow erupted from Harry’s fingertips, shooting towards the hobbling man in front of him. Rowle tried blocking the onslaught, but Harry’s magic won out on sheer power. 

“ENOUGH!” Voldemort stood, long, billowing robes floating around him like a model at a shoot. Harry wanted to laugh. “You must control your magic. I will not tolerate my pet having no control over itself. Just look at what happened to your beautiful face.” 

The surrounding Death Eaters chuckled. Harry very much wanted to slit some throats. 

It had been nearly a month, now, since Voldemort had risen again. Every day there was more trainings like this. Harry’s magic was instinctual and powerful. Voldemort had come to the conclusion that Harry’s wild magic is what made their binding fail. Never mind that the serpentine man had been too weak by himself to solidify their bond. But what did he know?

Voldemort was finally moving close enough to Harry that he could better see the man’s features. The lights were still dark and dim, the crowd of Death Eaters circled around Rowle and Harry like vultures, waiting their turn to test Harry’s control. 

“Master,” Harry breathed, his healing magic was finally working, his jaw cracking into place again. “I will get better.” 

Platitudes. The man must have to hear them all day, because Voldemort lifted his bone white wand and performed the Cruciatus on Harry. It lasted for nearly ten whole seconds. But it might as well have been a small eternity. Harry was huffing, no other sound coming from him. No crying. He’d been told before. The Dark Lord does not accept the weak.

“I need to trust that you intend for us to bond, Pet.” Voldemort leaned over Harry, features clarifying. Harry could see wrinkles, pulling his ugly face into an uglier frown. “Control your magic. Crabbe, you’re next.” 

And so it went. The rest of the day was spent so that Harry could attempt to control his magic against attacks. Harry couldn’t help but think that if he had his wand, he’d be able to focus it somewhere. But he wasn’t allowed one. Not when the true Dark Lord had his own. And Harry’s dirty half-blood hands didn’t deserve to touch it. 

By evening, Harry was drained. Every single Death Eater had taken their turns. It had been exhausting. He knew how most of them liked to attack, so it was more difficult to withhold his magic because of it. Even if Lucius’ attacks were not as strong as the others. He didn’t have the fortitude for torture. 

“I would like your presence in the large room, tonight, Pet.” Voldemort stroked through Harry’s sweaty hair. The long strands pulled out of its tie. “I might need your young brain tonight.”

Harry shivered. It sounded like a proposition. One that made Harry want jump off a cliff. But he couldn’t argue, he knew the odds of him surviving that. 

Showered and freshly dressed, Harry didn’t bother trying to heal the remainder of his injuries. There was no need to do so and faint on the floor at Voldemort’s feet. If he didn’t portray himself strong enough to take a couple of beatings, the crazy wizard may just as well dispose of him. Instead, the mottled bruising on his face and exposed skin clashed with the midnight blue robes with delicate gold thread trimmings. Harry’s hair swept up in a loose gathering at the top of his head. 

It was inelegant, as Lucius always berated. But the length of hair was too wild for the pristine designs Lucius attempted. So, it was either short and wild with a boyish flare, or long and silky quality that made Harry look more feminine. It caught his Masters’ eye well enough, so Harry decided he made the right choice. A pretty face was harder to get rid of if you grew attached. 

Taking a steadying breath in the empty corridor of Malfoy Manor, Harry allowed himself into the large dining room just as he heard the front door open. He ignored the late arrivals entering at the other end of the hall, and found his place, standing just to the right of Voldemort’s opulent chair. Harry could see his tutors, the men and women who taught him the Dark Arts, the spells and curses, how to lie and how to torture. They looked upon him like proud parents, sending their child off to be consumed by some minor god. 

“My dear followers,” Voldemort opened up the meeting as soon as the two late wizards had shown up. Harry didn’t get a chance to see who they were, but it didn’t matter, he supposed. “fourteen long years of hiding in the shadows. Fourteen years of concealing our dreams of a new, better world. I had hoped that the wizarding world be ready for my return. But here we are. Quiet, like a toothless lion. 

“I can say I’m disappointed. Despite some setbacks, I’m expecting that you here tonight, will be ready to recommit to our cause.”

Voldemort went into a hateful speech against Mudbloods. He’d been so consumed by this hate that Harry was able to withdraw his full attention from the man. 

Harry stood as still and obedient as he could. Staring somewhere in the middle of the giant table. It was the dining room table, charmed to accept the number of the Inner Circle to each have a seat. Harry wasn’t sure how many witches and wizards there were, but he could guess at over two dozen. And there were plenty more shadows lurking in the dark. Harry only wished that the asshats had allowed him his glasses…

Three years, two months, and four days ago…

Harry woke slowly, eyes swollen as if he’d been crying. He was lying in a bed that had the softest sheets he’d ever felt. Facedown, Harry realized he didn’t have his glasses on. The first thing he did, besides struggle to keep his balance despite the raging headache, was pat around for his glasses. He searched the bed, the floor, and the two-night tables beside the large, four poster bed. Panic setting in deeper, Harry tried taking in his surroundings. 

Dark wood four poster, no curtains, sheet so soft they must be silk, and dark interior. A couple of candles burned across the bedroom for him. The darkness made sure that he couldn’t immediately pinpoint where the exit might be. But he did find the curtained window. 

Trying to get his legs to cooperate, Harry rolled out of the bed, thudding to the floor, and scrambled to get to his feet. His socked feet slid on the stone floor, catching on the silver carpet, Harry sprinted towards the window. 

“Please, please, please!” Harry drew open the heavy curtains to reveal a large window. There were no bars on it, but that might be because he was nearly four floors up. So he thought. Harry still couldn’t make out any details even under the full moon. It shown brightly, tormenting Harry’s predicament. 

Behind him, the door opened slowly. Harry spun around, squinting against the blur and the dark to try to make out any figures. 

“Good evening, My Lord.” A smooth, rich voice called out. The man was dressed in all black, a large wizard house robe cloaking his figure, but against the black was a shock of long white hair. Or a scarf. But it wasn’t cold enough for a scarf. “Please don’t bother in trying to run. You’re quite safe in this room.”

“Where am I?” Harry shouted, heart beating like a rabbit. “Who are you?” 

“You might know of me,” The voice got closer, heeled boots echoing in the dark room. “My name is Lucius Malfoy. Draco’s father.” Relief swept over Harry. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Harry stepped closer to the man, he only hoped that Lucius had only saved him from whoever had been posing as his family. “You have to help me, these people, they tried to kidnap me.” 

“Not tried, dear boy.” Lucius stepped closer, his feature growing slightly clearer. “Succeeded.”

Harry tried to gasp, but he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. 

There was no way. He hadn’t even been out of Hogwarts a full day when he’d been kidnapped. Likely by Voldemort’s henchmen. But Draco had never let on that his family were dark. Even if he had, what could Harry do if his kidnappers disguised themselves as the Dursleys. They had been similar enough in their indifference to him that it took Harry too long to recognize the trap he was in.

“The Dark Lord is extremely interested in you, Harry.” Lucius drew close enough that Harry could see the man’s glacial blue eyes, “You’ll be under excellent tutelage, with us.”

“Us?” Harry felt like fainting. He was so far from being able to shout for help. He knew from Draco that the Manor was in the country. And even if they were close enough for neighbors to hear, what would they be able to do against a well secured mansion? Harry instinctively tried reaching out mentally to Severus. 

“Death Eaters, dear boy.” Lucius took Harry’s upper arm just as he’d lost the feeling in his legs. “We’ll train you up to become the next Dark Lord.”

If only Harry had the pocket mirror. If only Dumbledore hadn’t taken it away from him. Before Harry could even mourn the loss a second time, he blacked out. 

“We have a sore lack of wands to fight against the Ministry, My Lord.” Lucius intoned; voice as smooth as silk. Harry wished he could stuff the man’s throat with wool socks. “A gentler hand may be required, to re-lay the groundwork we lost. A few of the officials are still in our pockets. It shouldn’t be long until we have Fudge as well.”

Voldemort seemed to like this. The Minister was in for a world of hurt once someone got their hooked claws into his back. Harry could only imagine the bargaining chip large enough to entice a head official. 

“How would you do it, pet.” Voldemort’s voice drew Harry out of his musings. Quickly catching up to the conversation, Harry thought of some of their options. 

“The young.” Harry felt his heartbeat pick up. “The students at Hogwarts.”

There was tittering and more than outright chuckles. Harry knew he wasn’t a tactician. That had been Ron. That boy had been unmatched, even against the upper years, at Wizards Chess. Even Rowle, one of Harry’s shrewdest tutors, didn’t think that he had the intellect. But Harry was vindicated when Voldemort continued where Harry seemed to have left off.

“They would still be mourning the loss of the Diggory boy, no doubt. Sentimental. With the papers and officials disagreeing with Dumbledore and Longbottom my return, now could be a good time to send someone in as Defense Professor. They could bolster the young Slytherins and corrupt the Grey’s.” Voldemort laughed, deep and dark. Harry shivered. He daren’t even breathe too hard to gain his Masters’ attention even more. “Brilliant, Harry.”

The room became silent. Harry turned to look at the only bright spot in the room. Lucius Malfoy sat straighter in his seat. No doubt proud for the reflection of his own efforts. 

“Who do we have ready for that?” Voldemort asked. The conversations no longer involved Harry, so he had been able to afford himself a little more mental solitude. 

His headache was back, it surged powerfully through his head and pulsated. He may be able to put up this blank façade, but he was no statue. It was an obsessive feeling, like being pulled through a funnel. A thick, cloying presence in his head. 

Only after the failed binding to Voldemort was Harry able to finally tell the difference between a pain in his head and what felt like someone invading it. He was curious one day, as the doors were wide open, accepting any and all information into his brain he would sometimes hear snippets of conversation. Once or twice he thought he heard the Hogwarts bell. Then, he thought he could hear the song he used to sing in primary school echoed back to him. 

It never lasted long, only until he could slam shut those doors, or they were blocked off from him. The relief that usually came at the end of a cluster headache was visceral. He could feel his shoulders relax and his stomach unclench. 

“Come, my pet, we are finished here.” Voldemort was petting his head again. Harry didn’t mind the attention, it felt good to feel someone connecting to him. Even if it was this ugly thing. “I can’t wait to see how long you’ll last tonight.” 

Harry felt like puking. Every night Voldemort would put Harry into a stress position, just to see how long he could hold it. No matter the length of time, Harry always seemed to be punished in some way. He would rather take Fenrir Greyback’s leering sneer and its implications than another night performing for his Master. 

“My Lord.” A painfully familiar voice spoke up behind them. Voldemort didn’t see Harry’s widening eyes, or his quickened breathing. 

“Yes?” Voldemort asked patiently. “Finally joined us, I see. What news do you have?”

Harry tried breathing normally, remembering his mental exercises. He couldn’t give any weakness away. And Severus fucking Snape was one of those weaknesses. 

“I only wished to apologize for my lack of attendance.” Severus spoke calmly and with a severe lack of emotion or inflection. It chilled Harry to hear that from the man he’d heard laugh. 

“Ah, all forgiven, Severus,” Forgiven? Voldemort has never forgiven any of his followers. “As long as you have been able to remain in the bosom of Albus. I will need your services once again.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Harry imagined Severus bowing as he spoke. “There are plans to move Longbottom soon to an undisclosed location. And the Order of the Phoenix has been rallied once again.” 

“And you are within those ranks, still?” Voldemort asked, though Harry thought the man already knew the answer. Harry knew he did even if he’d never heard of The Order. 

“Yes, My Lord. Though Albus knows you have called me, he suspects nothing.”

Pain lanced through Harry’s chest. Whose side was Severus on? When he was a child, Harry had asked where Severus stood. And it definitely wasn’t part of the Death Eaters! Let alone Voldemort’s favorite servant. 

“My apologies, Severus,” Voldemort gripped Harry’s shoulder and turned him around. Despite the lack of glasses and clear vision, Harry could have been able to make Severus’ severe frame anywhere. He was likely wearing his more casual full robes, high shine black leather boots with the soft heel, and a peacoat suit jacket with the silver buttons, cuffs wide to grace his large hands, a draping cape by the looks of it instead of the cloistering robes. “You remember your old student. Harry Potter.”

Harry stared at the man’s face, though at this distance he could only see the curtain of black hair and black eyes against his pale face. Was there that crease in his eyebrows that had always betrayed him when he was sad? Or was there the widening of nostrils and the slight uptick of a sneer? Did the man miss him?

“I can confess I’m surprised to see the boy alive.” Severus’ voice sounded more professional in front of the Dark Lord than it had in Potion’s class. It hurt Harry to hear such indifference. “I was unaware you were attempting to bond your spirit to his body.”

It was stated as a question, asking for more information without the possibility of the embarrassment of being denied. 

“No one had told you?” Voldemort’s voice hardened. “You, my most faithful and loyal? After all these years you have proven yourself my spy?” Harry wanted to edge away, melt into the shadows and attempt his best at avoiding being noticed. “Who was in charge of your tutelage, boy?”

“Malfoy, Rowle, the Carrows, MacNair, and Greyback.” Harry sprouted out quickly. He tried to keep his voice as level as possible, obviously being outdone by Sev. 

“No one else?” 

“They didn’t want too many people knowing. They felt that anyone outside who they believed most loyal shouldn’t know.” Harry tried recalling all the conversations those people ever had around him. Every time, it was to also discuss who they believed should get the recognition of raising such a prized vessel. “I’m assuming that they didn’t want to share.”

Voldemort laughed. Cold and full of malice. Harry wished he could see just a tiny bit better to see what wrinkles showed on Severus’ face, to see if the man’s dark eyes twitched in annoyance or glassed over with pride. He’d never known Severus as being a particularly good follower. So it was interesting to hear that Sev was the most loyal and faithful. 

“Assume as you wish, Pet. Severus could have been teaching you every single potion and poison at his disposal.” Voldemort resumed petting Harry. He couldn’t help that the touch, though coming from a mad man, was soothing an ache on a different level. “Because once we are fully bonded, your knowledge is my knowledge. Your secrets would be revealed to me.”

Some flicker of horrible dread filled Harry. Even Severus’ nervous shifting, though minute as it was, didn’t sooth him. 

If Voldemort found out how close Severus and he were, Sev was done for. Because of all the years they’d talked, Severus had been sure to teach Harry the good things in life. The stories he loved about being with his muggle born friend. Harry’s own mother. How he denounced his ties to the Dark despite being Slytherin. Oh, and let’s not forget the gentle urgings and the vocalizations of Severus’ pride to console Harry about showing the people of the wizarding world how he could be a good Slytherin. 

“Anything you’d like to confess to now?” Voldemort asked, cooing in Harry’s ear like a lover. Harry repressed the shiver and the ache for closeness. 

“I once set fire to a teacher because we were losing a quidditch match.” 

Voldemort laughed and held Harry closer. It was the most difficult thing not to beg Severus to take him home. 

Severus wanted to curse and shout. The lack of action was frustrating. They were now a week before school starts and no one was able to come up with anything to help get Harry out of Voldemort’s tight clutches. 

“We need to get him out.” Severus shouted, he’d been on the edge of tears and he didn’t care who saw. For once in his life he was going to allow himself to feel. 

“He’s been trained to become the next Dark Lord if not his vessel.” Remus Lupin rubbed at his face. “Even I have to admit that the likelihood of Harry being able to mentally come back from the conditioning and training is slim.”

“Harry can be saved.” Sirius chimed in; his voice rough. Severus wanted to roll his eyes. 

“We need to move towards action.” Severus tried focusing everyone back to where his frustration was coming from.

“You’ve said yourself, Severus, that you haven’t seen Harry since the first meeting.” Dumbledore spoke up. “Do you happen to know if he’s been moved, or is training?”

Severus didn’t have that information. Voldemort had kept mum to where Harry was. The dark gleam in his eye keeping Severus motivated to find where his boy is. 

“Not a single clue.” Severus growled. He scrubbed his face in frustration. There had been no conversation about Harry. No word on what the plans were for the boy. 

“How do we know that Harry would come back? He must have been brainwashed, indoctrinated into the Death Eater ways by now.” Kingsley offered up as speculation. How very blind they all were. How very typical. The stain of the dark arts should not automatically color the wizard. It shouldn’t, but it does. 

Those who live in the Light would never have to experience living in the Dark. Of what it might be like for Harry, who had to have been forced to become what he is now. The implications of what happened during his captivity twisted Severus’ gut into something ugly. 

“He lied.” Severus grunted against the prosecution by everyone around him. “Harry James Potter has never lied to me before on something like this. He’s obsessed with being seen as a good person. He said that he was the one to put Quirrell on fire when they had been losing a game.”

“That wasn’t Harry, that was Seamus. And it was the Gryffindor Hufflepuff game. Everyone at school knows that.” Ron piped up. Severus would have rather kept the children out of this meeting. But they’d all insisted on attending. When the adults, minus Albus and Severus, looked strangely at Ron, he added, how it had been an accident. 

“What else was so significant about that day?” Severus recalled the events that had unfolded. It was unseasonably hot for spring. Harry hadn’t had much sleep and had insisted on going to the game. Even when he knew that he hadn’t been feeling well. The boy hadn’t eaten or drunk anything at breakfast. 

“He passed out, heat exhaustion,” Neville said, finally connecting what Severus was trying to get to. “you carried him back.” 

“Harry considers Hogwarts home. He wants to come home. He had to say something and not tip off the Dark Lord.” He had to. That was the only reason why Harry would do that. The boy had looked scared, defeated, and accepting of what he was being subjected to. “I have to believe that was what he was saying. 

Severus swore, that when he saw Harry walk into that room and stand next to Voldemort, the boy had been in a sort of trance. Thoughts of some sort of possessing or controlling spell flooded Severus’ mind. Nearly distracting him the entire meeting. That was until Harry had given his thoughts on how to subdue the wizarding community without razing Britain. 

The rest of the meeting devolved into theories about Harry. About the prophecy Neville had heard from Trelawney. The greater power. That was obviously Harry. But to what extent was his power. Severus hadn’t seen a wand on Harry, though his robes hid the boy’s figure well a wand would not have been obvious. And Harry’s original wand was destroyed in the fire. 

Severus slept horribly that night. A raging migraine kept him up nearly all night. It hadn’t gone away until near one in the morning. A common occurrence since his last meeting attendance. Occasionally it would happen during the day as well. Blinding, tearing headaches that nearly flattened him. If he didn’t get his shit together before school starts, he’ll be in a world of trouble. Because Harry’s plan was already being fulfilled. A ministry official had been planted as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. 

If they were a member of the Inner Circle, or even a common Death Eater, he’d have to be on his toes and walk a fine line. His leniency for his favorite students had become too obvious at the end of last year. Then again, if they were a ministry official looking for any way to sack Dumbledore, then Severus would still have to toe that line. 

He’d have to gather his students later and have a talk with them. There could be no more blatant favoritism. 

Severus was just falling asleep when he felt his left arm burning something awful. Jolting awake, and in the middle of a nightmare, Severus quickly dressed and apparated from Grimmauld Place. He’d left a note for whomever came to wake him for breakfast. 

Upon arriving at the edge of Malfoy Manor, Severus noticed how light the sky was getting. He couldn’t have been asleep more than two hours. Groaning internally, he marched on and through the gates. 

“Severus,” Voldemort purred. A disturbing scene of the remainder of cruelty lay strewn about the master bedroom. Harry was in the middle of the room breathing heavily, sweat pouring off his body. Severus could see where he was kneeling with his butt lifted inches off his heels, suspending himself, muscles quivering. “Do come in.”

Smothering his instinctual response to help Harry, Severus came further into the room, distantly cataloguing the casualties of an obvious training session laying in bloodied piles. 

“I am in need of your guidance.” Voldemort brought Severus closer to Harry, who was sweating through a thin button-down white shirt, black trousers dirtied with something dark and unidentifiable. He was shaking so hard it was difficult to remain impassive. “How would you correct a boy when he refuses to reign in his behavior?”

Severus watched as Voldemort’s red eyes ghosted over Harry’s body, taking in the strain of his body. Severus felt so sick he had to swallow a couple of times before answering. 

“What type of behavior?” Severus couldn’t find the energy to mentally pat himself on the back for keeping his voice sounding neutral. 

“Conformity. The boy refuses to learn how to control his wild magic.” Voldemort indicated the shaking boy in front of them. Harry was dipping further and further towards his heels. Then, with monumental effort that made him grunt, he raised himself a bit more. His arms were behind his back, wrists crossed. “I’m told he’s been like this since coming to us.” 

“I see,” Severus looked around the room again. He could see scorch marks in the marble of the floor, disintegrating damage to the stone walls, ice and swirls of electricity above them on the chandelier. “I take it he has no wand?”

“Do you expect me to offer him a weapon to use against me?” Voldemort asked, a bite to his words. Severus had to tread carefully. 

“Either that or fix his vision.” Severus hoped that this would help. Either way, Harry should be able to focus his magic better with either option. “He has such poor eyesight I’m surprised he’s not running into walls.” 

It hurt to say. It hurt to sound as if Harry’s existence was taxing on his person. His heart almost bled when Harry cried out before falling onto his heels, arms fell to his sides limply. Sweat rolled off his brow, through the meandering valley of his scar, and down his face. All of Severus’ mental powers were going specifically towards his need to save his boy. 

“Nearly blind?” Voldemort sounded disgusted. “How do they expect for me to have a vessel that is nearly blind? His vision was not an issue when I possessed him before.” Voldemort swirled around Harry like a vulture, allowing Harry’s failure to remain in his stress position. Severus wanted to cry. Wanted to pick his boy up and run. To kill Voldemort where he stood. 

“What would we need for his vision?” Voldemort stroked Harry’s sweaty hair, long strands hanging limply around his face. Breath quick and uneven. “And if you behave, pet, you can have a wand.” 

As if the boy hadn’t been taking this torture for Merlin knew how long! Harry had never been disobedient. Oh, he’d bend the rules and charm his way out of trouble, but deliberately? Never. 

“Thank you, Master. You are so gracious, Master.” Harry panted, green eyes rolling around in his head. 

“Don’t overdo it.” Voldemort warned then ignored Harry collapsing in on himself. 

“A potion coupled with an incantation would fix his eyesight.” Severus could brew one up now, it was relatively simple. 

“Get it to me.” Voldemort was still watching Harry, who was breathing as if he wanted to sob. “Why had they not given you this before, pet?”

“They wanted an advantage over me.” Harry said between panting breaths. His answer quick and ready. 

Voldemort laughed, head thrown back, neck exposed. It would be so easy. A cutting curse. A blinding wash of green. So many spells to end a person. 

Severus was dismissed with a wave of his hand. With titanic effort, Severus withdrew himself from the room. He could hear Voldemort cooing more words into Harry’s ears. Could hear a response from his boy. 

A cold, burning anger welled up inside Severus. How dare this wizard ruin someone so perfect? So beautiful? So innocent? How could Severus sleep at night knowing that this was likely what Harry was doing all this time? 

Severus found the nearest bathroom and bent over the toilet, dry heaves convulsing through his body. His headache was back, but weak. A gentle pulsing, almost a rhythm against his skull. 

When Severus had finished the potion from Malfoy’s private lab, he brought the potion to Voldemort’s chamber. Eyes cast around immediately for Harry. 

“Here, Severus.” The grating voice called. They were by the fire, Harry curled at Voldemort’s feet like a dog, sleeping fitfully. I’ve seen worse. Severus tried telling himself. I’ve seen worse… but not from Harry. “It’s hard to forget that this boy was once the bane of my existence. That I thought him my enemy.” Voldemort nudged Harry awake with his foot. It had only been an hour since he’d left the two to make the potion. “But since becoming a Slytherin, I see now how I might have been… blinded.” 

Of course, Severus knew that Voldemort would never admit to being wrong. The thing is, Severus thinks that Voldemort had it right the whole time. Severus had to keep believing that there was good left in Harry. 

“I must attend to something else right now.” Voldemort stood up smoothly, eyeing Severus the entire time. “I can trust you with him.”

The threatening energy coming off of Voldemort was never so clearer. If Severus took his opportunity now, Voldemort would know. Likely immediately. And he would have a way to punish the both of them. 

“Of course, My Lord.” Severus bowed slightly, eyes drawn to the drowsy boy to his left, still on the floor. 

Before Voldemort could even cross the threshold of the door, his headache was back. The pounding in his head a staccato echoing through. Why were these happening? It was as if – Severus took a surprised breath and cut his eyes to Harry. It was as if his Occlumency shields had been ripped apart and his mind being pulled at. 

Harry sat; knees drawn up against his chest. Dull green eyes pinning Severus to the spot. He hadn’t shifted from his seat on the floor, comfortable with being at the feet of the Dark Lord. As comfortable as any fighting dog forced to heel. 

“Is that—” 

Harry shook his head, eyes widening in terror as he looked towards the door. 

“—the best you can do, Potter. The Dark Lord is waiting for your cooperation.” Severus redirected his words. Harry visibly relaxed, Severus’ headache disappearing immediately. Interesting. “I suppose you’re lucky you don’t behave for the Dark Lord as you did me in school.” 

He had to ask. He had to test to see if this trained Death Eater was his Harry. 

“I don’t think you’d appreciate if I mistreat him the way I mistreated you.” Harry’s voice was tired and flat. But Severus could hear where the highborn influence colored his speech. Somewhere in there, though, Severus was also able to hear his Surrey accent. “Are you going to tell on me, sir?” 

“I should.” Severus smiled, he wanted to cry. This was his Harry. “But for now, let’s correct your vision. It won’t be perfect, but it will help. You will have headaches as you adjust.”

“Not like I’m already getting headaches.” Harry quipped, sounding more like himself. Severus missed the smile that usually accompanied this tone of voice. Challenge me, it would ask. “My head is splitting; I wish I had something to focus on. Maybe if I look closer into a mirror and pick a spot, yeah?”

“I have no idea, Potter. I’m sure a mirror could be brought in, to your specifications.” Severus bent over and lifted his hand to Harry’s head. Touching the boy felt like coming home. Felt like he was whole. His fingers ached to hold Harry, to drag him into his arms and enfold him in the protection he wanted to offer. But Harry was the more cautious of the two, he held his seat, tilted his head back and opened his mouth for the potion. 

Severus was no healer. Even if he’d attended Poppy on the occasional healing session on students that required careful attention after the consumption of dangerous potions, he was still no healer. With great concentration, Severus uttered the long string of words that would assist in correcting Harry’s eyes. He knew how fuzzy the world around Harry got without his glasses. To go for nearly three and a half years without his glasses was torture enough. Cruel. 

Harry began blinking, eyes watering as his eyes dilated and contracted wildly. This is what gave patients headaches. The iris focusing, the retinae tingling, carrying along the optic nerve and into the bottom lobe of the brain. Light and darkness would war with the dilation, hence the watery eyes. It was a pity that Severus couldn’t console Harry through it. Hold his hand like he would want to while sitting in Poppy’s office. 

“Why hadn’t anyone tried this before?” Harry asked, voice constricted. “Healed my vision.”

“It’s dangerous at such a young age.” Severus capped the vial and stood over Harry to watch the progression. “That and your relatives hadn’t answered or signed for the procedure to take place. We tried sending someone but were met with staunch disapproval.” 

“Fucking muggles.” Harry sounded like he meant it. Severus wondered if he did. “Should have died earlier.”

Severus didn’t say anything about it. He wouldn’t have if it were anyone else. A cold and calculating man were the one the Death Eaters were used to. 

Finished, Harry blinked around the room, taking in the finer details and recognizing things from further away. 

“Any better, Potter?” 

“Still kinda fuzzy.” Harry admitted. His knees came down to sit cross-legged, less guarded. He looked incredibly young in the clean full wizard suit, cheeks still rounded and soft. Severus’ heart constricted in pain. Everything had been stolen from Harry. “But a lot better than usual.” Sharp green eyes cut from across the room to take in all of Severus. From his boots to the top of his head. Harry’s mouth crooked into a smirk. “Thought so. Thank you, sir.”

Nodding, Severus turned, with difficulty, to leave. His task had been completed. He was no more than halfway across the room when Voldemort reentered. Severus paused and bowed slightly. He wasn’t acknowledged. Voldemort expected Severus to perform his duties, no thanks or appreciation was required. 

A new kind of light filled Severus as he returned and relayed to Dumbledore what had happened. He said, with as much earnest as he could manage without sounding mad, that Harry had been trying to reach out. That he would accept the help if it came. 

“Are you sure you don’t have the pocket mirror?” Severus asked, nearly begging. It was the only thing that could allow the both of them to communicate. To console and to plot. 

“I’m sorry, Severus.” Dumbledore shook his head. “I know it was a gift to him. And I know how much time you spent hunting that artifact down. But you must know that even if we were able to get it to him, he would come under scrutiny. A ‘pet’ of Voldemort’s would not be allowed possessions.”

Severus bristled at Dumbledore using that term. Pet. As if Dumbledore didn’t have his own, hiding in the Gryffindor Tower until the beginning of school. 

“Then we leave him there? Defenseless and without a security rope?” Severus began to shout. “I WILL NOT LEAVE MY BOY LIKE THAT!”

Dumbledore absorbed the words, loud and resounding even in the cluttered room of his office. Too deep did these ties run. Too strong were the roots. The old man wouldn’t be burying Severus’ feelings for the boy. Whatever they were. 

“You must think I don’t care.” Dumbledore’s voice was quiet. It didn’t calm the vibrating bones within Severus. But it caught his attention. Breathing hard, he collapsed into the high wingback chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. “That just because he wasn’t the one the prophecy foretold; you think I would abandon a child to the Dark Lord?” 

“No.” Severus shook his head; he knew better than that. “I never said you would. I just—I want him back. I want him safe. To be happy again. To not have to know the ugliness of war.”

“We cannot fail the world because of our impatience.” Dumbledore sighed heavily. He was staring at a scrying mirror, nothing more than another bauble of interest sitting on his desk. “We cannot fail Harry because of our impatience. A moment will present itself. But it cannot be before then.” 

Mind racing with all the possibilities, all the people who would rally together to save a child from the clutches of the Dark Lord, Severus knew that Dumbledore was speaking the truth. They couldn’t force their hand. With Voldemort still in hiding from the public, it would be dangerous to the rest of the world if Severus blew his cover. But nothing sounded as important as saving Harry. Even now. 

“What do you know, Albus?” Severus asked, weary. “What have you seen?” Severus didn’t have to point to the mirror on the table. Idle and still, it looked like any other mirror. 

“Our success.” 

Harry twirled his wand in his hand. He was fidgeting and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. It had been so long since he’d last held a wand. And that few minutes of time holding his Master’s didn’t count. The damn thing had felt wrong in his hands. But this one, though not perfect, was better than the other one’s he’d tried. 

Once belonging to a half-blood prisoner, Harry still felt weird holding the wand in his hand. He couldn’t be given anything “stronger” than a half-blood witch’s wand. As if these bloody highborns or purebloods had more powerful wands simply because of pedigree. There had been plenty of times in his training that Harry had been able to not only disarm his tutors, but to completely humiliate them. And that was without a wand. 

“My Lord, if I could have your attention.” Lucius called out to Harry. It was strange, getting used to being treated as if he were a mini replica of his Master instead of a loathsome pet. A failure. After Harry had been given the opportunity to show Voldemort what he’d learned on a few of the prisoners, he’d begrudgingly gained their respect. Especially after Voldemort praised the boy. My pretty, vessel. Harry wanted to be sick. “My Lord?” 

“Yes, go on.” Harry struggled under the new burden of his title. It hadn’t taken long for Voldemort to establish that Harry were to be heeded in his commands as Voldemort did. Afterall, Harry attracted the Dark Lord with the ruthlessness and sheer power he could now control with a wand. Sometimes it even scared Harry. 

“Azkaban sits in the North Sea. The winds and swells will be rough and dangerous. This time of year there may even be storms.” Lucius magically held up a map, showing the general vicinity where Azkaban, the wizarding prison, sat. Harry looked on with interest. This would be the furthest from the London area he’d been. “The Dementors will have plenty to distract them while we make our attack. The stock we have will be a bargaining piece to lure them to our cause.”

“Stock?” Harry asked, confused as to what he meant. A couple of the Death Eaters chuckled darkly around him. Voldemort smiled, making Harry want to retch. 

“The muggles and mudbloods we’ve gathered, Harry.” Voldemort sat up, getting closer to Harry. He daren’t move. “If you prove yourself useful tonight, you can even go on these adventures with my followers.” 

Voldemort’s followers, not Harrys. Because it wouldn’t be much longer until Voldemort found the spell or rites to seal himself within Harry. 

“I look forward to it, Master.” 

Prisoners Escape Azkaban!  
Ministry Shaken!!!

Late last night, a group of witches and wizards had escaped Azkaban prison – located somewhere in the North Sea – that had once followed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dark arts have been said to have been the cause of such catastrophe, though the Aurors are not commenting on who, specifically, had been able to locate the prison and get past the dementors that guard the prison. 

“Belletrix Lastrange was one of the Death Eaters who had escaped. It is the work of the notorious, and dangerous, Sirius Black.” Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge commented to this reporter in a press meeting early this morning. Though one Auror had been able to confirm that a very powerful magic had been used against the spelled and secured prison. 

Albus Dumbledore and Neville Longbottom have not come forth and commented on if they believe that this is the actual work of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Ron threw the paper down into his plate. This was the fourth occurrence that should be waking up the wizarding world! But the Minister refuses to admit that the Dark Lord has returned. Neville was just as angry inside as Ron looked. 

“The nerve of that man.” Hermione growled. “Fudge has had six months to admit that he was wrong. More and more people are disappearing and all he has to blame is Sirius.” 

“Kind of an easy target, isn’t he?” Neville asked around a mouthful of cakes. 

It was early December and the weather had been nothing but atrocious. It even made the most stir-crazy student try to brave the weather to go to Hogsmeade. Neville only worried about his plants he’d helped cultivate for Herbology. They might not last much longer without stronger spells around the green houses to protect from the wind and snow. 

The entire school made it difficult for him to find peace. It was enough that the outside world found Neville crazy, but another thing entirely when the whole school thought you were barmy. 

“How did Harry handle all this attention?” Neville sobbed into his cake and ducked his head when he heard a first year Ravenclaw speculate on his mental health. 

“With difficulty, if you remember.” Blaise came to their table and scared away a third year who had barely sat down herself. Draco, of course, was nestled well against Ron and now in between Blaise. “There were times I thought he would pop-off.” 

Neville couldn’t help but laugh a little. He remembered seeing Harry try to avoid the stares and the questions by running to the dungeons. But, according to Blaise and Draco, he hadn’t found much peace there either. The Slytherins were quite taken with him. Wanting this or that favor just for the opportunity to be in his debt. 

“No wonder why he always went flying.” Neville mused. Looking out at the weather, he thought of how Harry would be one of those student’s going stir-crazy, and how he’d be trying to get outside for any reason. “Who’s got detention with Umbridge tonight?” 

There was a round of groans, even outside of The Five that Neville was addressing. That woman would be the end to every single student at Hogwarts if she wasn’t stopped soon. She’d ran off Dumbledore, constrained the student body to near fascist control, and subdued the teachers as soon as she was appointed Headmistress. 

Even Snape was having a difficult time with her. He kept alluding to having to make potions for the toad-woman, though he never came out and said what types. 

Neville looked up to check on Snape. The man was so stressed that his complexion had taken a paler look than he’d ever had. Rings around his eyes and visible lines of stress. Of all the houses, though, Snape’s was the one who was surviving Umbridge’s rule. Instead, most had been given “junior inquisitor” titles to interrogate and police the students. As if Prefects weren’t there for that reason. No, the woman needed an army. 

“Hey, Neville,” Ron stopped by the boys’ bed later that night. “did you ever figure out who’s been sending you those owls?” 

Shaking his head, Neville took his bathrobe off, even if it was a bit cold in their dorm, Neville had been a bit warmer than anyone else. 

“They’re only single words. Or a couple of numbers.” Neville sat on the edge of his bed, looking up at his best friend. “I don’t know what they mean yet. And before you ask, no, I haven’t asked Snape.”

“What are they again?” Ron came closer to the foot of the bed, where Neville had stuffed the letters into his trunk. 

“Truth, hidden, and the number ninety-seven.” Neville could remember the hints by heart. If they were indeed hints. He wasn’t sure what kind of game anyone was playing. And when he’d told his parents about the mysterious letters, they tried tracking them. But it didn’t work. “All letters and packages delivered by owl is tracked, I don’t know why my parents can’t find who sent it.”

“Maybe it’s like that person is an untraceable house. Hidden underneath dozens of spells.” Ron leaned up against the wall next to Neville’s bed. He was biting his lip trying to think, eyebrows crossed. “I bet that’s how the Death Eaters have been hiding Harry all this time.”

Neville really looked at his friend. One of the first one’s he’d made in school besides Harry. The both of them in first year had taken some sort of pity on him at first. But the more they all hung out and talked, the more Neville could see that the pity in their eyes changed to enjoyment. Since then, Ron had been something of a protector for Neville. The loss of Harry had hurt every one of them. But Neville seemed to have taken it the hardest besides Snape. 

Harry had been the anchor for them all, creating the bonds between two rival houses and six very different personalities. 

“You and Draco are still going strong I see.” Neville teased before he could think of it. He could see the very obvious red mark on Ron’s skin just above his shirt collar. It had been hidden well underneath the school uniform and high collared winter robes. 

“Yeah,” Ron blushed, rubbing the back of his head. “really came out of nowhere, didn’t it?”

Neville had to agree. It had been pretty sudden, one day they had been arguing and daring one another to do stupid things, the next they couldn’t get enough snogs in. Draco hadn’t changed much, he was still arrogant and demanding in his peacock attention, but for some reason, when Ron looked at him a certain way the other boy turned to jelly. Ron, for the most part, blushed horrendously easily and stuttered whenever Draco whispered any sort of feigned innuendo.

“I think I like him.” Ron admitted, face drawn together but still blushing. “Like really like him.” Neville laughed gently, not wanting to hurt Ron’s feelings. “You think Harry would be surprised when he comes back?” 

The hope in his voice hurt something in Neville. How could the redhead be looking so far ahead? He guessed it was the other boys’ nature. Being a more than average wizards’ chess player. A brilliant tactician was always looking ahead, right?

“I think he’d be happy for you two.” Neville was surprised by how much it felt like the truth. “He’d laugh first, the way he does when he’s caught off guard. But he’d be happy for you.” 

Neville cried himself to sleep that night, missing Harry all over again. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a ghostly floating orb, voices calling out to Neville in the dark. The more he listened, the more he realized it sounded like Harry.


	6. Stolen Moments

Harry’s body was still shaking from the cold by the time they’d come back to the Manor. The other Death Eaters were celebrating. Voldemort walked through his newly returned with a glint in his red eyes. No one was paying attention to Harry. Being outside was different. Being outside, especially over the sea was something Harry had once thought he’d never experience again. It was the first time he’d been allowed out of the building since coming here.

Looking back on how he’d gotten the dark wizards trust enough to leave the manor made Harry almost want to vomit. Night after night since his Masters’ return, Harry would practice harder and longer at controlling his magic. Sometimes it was a review of the magic he’d already been taught, other times he was forced to hex and curse muggles that had been brought in. Those nights were the worst.

Remembering talking with Severus, even if it was the strictest conversation they’d ever had, would sometimes calm him. Other times Harry would be catatonic for a whole day.

When Harry was finally given a wand, it was a Mudbloods wand that he’d had to torture. It was now his wand. He was thankful that it worked well enough for him. The chances of finding a perfect wand may have already happened at Ollivanders. The piles of wands they’d gone through reminded Harry how lucky he was that this rare oak wand worked for him. Ten inches, phoenix ash, incredibly durable and not the slightest finicky with Harry’s more powerful outbursts of magic.

Phoenix ash, Harry had been told by Rowle, was difficult to collect in the right amounts with the imbued magic of a new burn. Harry believed him. He’d once watched Fawkes on a burning day when he was sent to the Headmaster for fighting in the halls with his precious Gryffindors. There had been a pause, a break in between the burn and the chick finding its way out of the hot ash. To gather any amount and not hurt or destroy the bird was dangerous. And considering how rare, near extinct, the birds are, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he had a memento of Fawkes once again. The thought warmed him the same way one of Severus’ smiles did.

Harry had felt, after being gifted the wand, that he’d been on exhibit since then. Always performing, always learning new spells and fighting styles. Voldemort was pleased with how well Harry would do. So pleased, in fact, Harry wouldn’t have to be in his stress positions by the end of the night. Only curled up at the end of the bed like a loyal dog.

Day after day Harry performed, got better, faster, more powerful than was necessary. It had scared Harry. There were times he’d done too well and had been punished. _That’s not what I told you to do._ Voldemort would yell at him. But at least the Death Eaters had stopped giving him such leering, dark looks. Now, they were looking at him with the same fear and reverence they afforded their Dark Lord.

It was a week before the prison breakout when Harry had been called into the dungeons. Having been down there often enough, for various reasons, Harry couldn’t even guess why he’d been summoned. In the dark and damp of the bared foundations of the Manor, Harry stood before his Master. There were three prisoners. One of them a child. Her eyes wet and wide, shaking from the cold and looking to her parents who continued writhing on the floor.

One spell, that was all it took to stop the sounds of pain. He’d been ordered, his compliance demanded, his subjugation expected. How he wished his vision hadn’t been restored. But it wouldn’t have muffled the last sounds of his victims.

He wasn’t allowed to cry; he wasn’t allowed to collapse into a ball of agony. He’d lost the last part of him he said he wouldn’t. It was one thing to learn Dark Arts, another to perform the most despicable on a person. Harry would forever remember the little plastic barrette tangled in her dark hair. Yellow like the sun, a shape he couldn’t see, but it sat against her hair like a candlelight in the dark.

“Congratulations, Pet,” Voldemort had said, whispered in his ear in a hot breath, “I believe you are ready to follow the demands of your Master.”

Harry followed. Perfectly. He’d killed some more, hurt others, especially Death Eaters that disappointed his Master. He was a perfect pet. His submission to his Master quietened his hope. So much so that when Harry was called to join some other Death Eaters to break into Azkaban, he wasn’t even tempted to abandon the others and find his way home. Severus wouldn’t want him now.

Voldemort had been beyond pleased. Harry had unleashed his anger and frustration out on bricks and mortar. The destruction he’d created tickled his Master and scared his followers. They’d never seen anyone besides the Dark Lord perform this level of magic.

“You were the right choice for my vessel, Pet.” Voldemort had said, in the dimness of the master bedroom. Harry had knelt between his master’s legs, shaking from the cold and facing the fire. He was beginning to accept his place.

The heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder squeezed.

“Yes, Master.”

_Just another way I can survive._

Severus had been going spare. His temper had risen, his mood swung wildly and without reason. Well, without a reason that didn’t include his new Headmistress. The blasted woman was continually requesting veratiserum from him. What she did with it he wasn’t sure. She would sooner slam the door in his face than hint at her uses of it.

Considering that she might have been the plan all along to infiltrate the school on behalf of the Dark, there wasn’t much that he could do. Even when his favorite five got into trouble time and again.

Delores had sniffed out immediately that Blaise and Draco weren’t like the rest of the Slytherins. Not able to be bribed or persuaded, the two boys aligned themselves with the rest of the school in their hate for the woman. Which did them no favors. He had to show that he was impartial to their punishments and detentions, unless he wanted her to go squealing off to the Dark Lord of his codling.

He’d reached his boiling point when he had heard that Neville had been given detention, yet again, for demanding practical’s in her class of theories. It was such a night that Neville had been returning from her office that he realized the extent to what the woman was doing behind closed doors.

“Longbottom.” Severus said harshly in the dark of the corridor. “What are you doing about this late after curfew?”

Neville looked tired, face pinched in pain when he stopped and looked at Severus. The man could see, in his wand light, that the boy had a thin sheen of sweat on his face.

“What happened?” Severus asked quietly. Ears lingered, especially in the dark.

“Detention.” Neville’s voice was rough. He pulled the sleeves of his knit sweater down and over his hands. It was an odd thing for the boy to do. He’d never hidden this way before.

“Explain.” Severus could feel his stress rising.

“It’s nothing, sir.” Neville tried dismissing Severus by taking a step back as if to run away. His eyes searched the hallway that lead to Gryffindor tower. “Just detention.”

Severus nearly growled, the boy was obviously suffering. And Severus would be damned if he allowed it to happen under his watch.

He grabbed the boy’s upper arms, Neville flinched slightly, and dragged them both into a classroom. This close to the toad-woman’s office Severus was sure to cast his _muffliato_ on the door.

“It is clearly something, Neville.” Severus tried to get down on eye-level with the boy. He was beginning to cry. “Come, tell me.” The boy’s lips tightened, and he shook his head. “Please.”

The dam broke. Neville leaned his head onto Severus’ chest and sobbed. There wasn’t much to do except to rub at the boys back and wait for him to talk. All the while Severus thought of Harry and how many times he’d wanted to just hold the boy when he showed his frustration at the rest of the school.

_“They’re treating me like I’m some sort of freak.” Harry threw himself into Severus’ office chair. Thankfully there was no one serving detention. He’d hate to get into a battle of stubbornness with the boy in front of witnesses._

_“More like a snake about to strike.” Severus sighed heavily. Harry had been complaining about how often people would just look at him. Staring in fear or some cross between disgust and admiration. “What, specifically, has gotten you in a flurry this time?”_

_Harry smiled, that one as if he held all the secrets between the two of you and found the humor in them._

_“I was asked by the quidditch captain to join as their seeker. Flint thought it would be a good idea. Even if Rosenbaum threw a fit when he heard he was going to be replaced by a firstie.” Harry slouched further into Severus’ seat. Like he owned it. “Are we still not speaking?”_

_As if Harry had to ask for a break in their silence._

_“I am still cross with you.” Severus approached his desk, looking down on the green-eyed beastie fiddling with the knobs on his desk. “You should never have been on the broom in the first place.”_

_“I know!” Harry jumped up out of the seat. “When are you just going to appreciate me for helping my friend?”_

_“You’re obviously mistaking me for a guardian and not a teacher.” Severus regretted what he’d said immediately. The boys’ face crumpled for a split second, not a single tear falling from his glassy eyes. Harry shoved his glasses further up his face and stomped out of the office without another word._

Thinking about it now, Severus had wished that he was more attentive to his boy. Harry had effectively ignored him from then on, until his first game. Severus would give anything to go back and give as much attention to Harry as he could. To spoil him rotten and ask for nothing in return but the boys’ happiness.

“She makes us write with this quill,” Neville was finally able to say. The poor boy was still hiccupping, but he was beginning to calm. “it must use our blood or something. There are scratches that show up on our hands. And, there’s a scar now.”

A blood quill! Such a dark object should never be allowed in a school! And for how often he himself was accused of mistreating his students, he’d never go this far. Threatening a toad here or there, maybe. Neville still hadn’t forgiven him for that.

“How dare she.” Severus was at a loss of what to say. There wasn’t much that he could be able to do without showing his hand. She is incredibly protective about what goes on behind closed doors. Going to the Board of Governors was out of the question, since Lucius was still in attendance.

“Please, don’t do anything.” Neville sniffled once, then leaned back to wipe at his nose. His eyes were dry, at least. “You’ll ruin your cover.”

“It won’t matter if you lot are being disgustingly punished for simple behavior.” Severus had his hands still on Neville’s shoulders, hoping to lend his strength where he could.

“We have to think of Harry.” Neville finally looked up at Severus, eyes focused and grave. “You’re our only hope of getting him back without losing the edge that we have now.”

Severus labored under the weight of his failures. He hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of Harry since coming to correct his vision. The implications of what had been happening in that bedroom made him sick. There weren’t any bodies, but the small sprays of blood and lack of injury on either Voldemort or Harry couldn’t draw any other conclusions than prisoners being used as training tools. Harry was being prepped to fully join the Death Eaters. It was now only a matter of time until Harry was fully indoctrinated.

The breakout at Azkaban had initially worried Severus but knowing that Harry didn’t even have a wand to be trusted with – let alone to be on an assignment with others – it was very unlikely the boy would have been in attendance. There were some that had died, prisoners too close to the destruction of the prison walls. Not a single witness there to see the Dementors’ failures.

“We’ll have to move soon,” Severus withdrew his hands, Neville swaying with exhaustion. “Harry won’t have much time left. The Dark Lord is likely still trying to bond the two of them.”

Neville nodded. There wasn’t much more to say to that. Severus had yet to hear from any other Death Eater who’d been on the prison break. He had to know if Harry had been there. Even if he were to watch the Dark Lord at his might. Or was he imprisoned in Malfoy Manor as he had been these nearly four years.

“Best get to bed, Neville. I don’t think anyone will stop you, but best not to dally.” With a heavy heart, Severus sent Neville to bed. He would have walked the boy all the way up to the tower, but he refrained.

The rest of the evening passed by slowly. By midnight, his shift had been taken by Finneas. The diminutive teacher appraised of Neville’s late-night detention.

“This can’t go on, Severus.” Finneas said, fury building in his voice. “How could Dumbledore leave at such a time the student’s need his protection?”

“He had no choice, Finneas.” Severus rubbed at his eyes, a headache, a true one, building. “It was either be arrested or keep himself free to intervene if things get too out of hand.”

“That boy has been tortured!” Finneas stopped, turning on his heel to glare up at Severus. “Not to mention any other student that had been sent to detention with her. It may not be a blood quill for them, but I’m sure she is not using conventional means.”

Severus nodded in agreement. There were so many students who have not reported the details of their detention. Not to mention if any student had been subjected to a vial of veratiserum.

The next day was typical. Students came into the classroom in a depressed state. Very few held their heads up who weren’t Slytherin. And even those in the silver and green weren’t entirely left alone.

“Today we are brewing Draught of Peace,” Severus had just finished writing the instructions on the board. “You will brew in threes, one to be designated a watch, as this potion swiftly changes.” He turned towards his seventh years, but their attention was taken up by the Daily Prophet. “If you are to finish this potion today, I suggest you start.”

“Sir,” the Ravenclaw Head Boy stood, holding the newspaper tight in his hands. “there was a muggle village attacked. There were no survivors. Colleen Parker and about four other Hufflepuff had family there.”

Today would be a grim day indeed. Severus spent the rest of the class period consoling, to the best of his ability, the three attending students. Miss Parker had been distraught to the point that she needed medical attention.

The entire castle was rocked by the news. It was a fairly large village, a destination village in the summer apparently. And this close at the end of summer holidays meant that there was a chance a swelling amount was still there.

Severus checked in on his five students, and besides the fury of inactivity of the Auror’s they were all fine.

A headache was building. The pain was so incredible that it had to be a real one. Harry blinked in the dark of the bedroom, trying to wake up more.

After a few moments, Harry was able to drag himself out of the bed and disrobed to shower. He took his time to scrub the invisible touch of Voldemort from his skin and luxuriated under the hot spray. He’d been given more lead on his bridle. Able to move around the grounds at his leisure. He was invited to the Death Eater meetings, to sit at Voldemort’s right hand, despite the hissing from Bellatrix Lestrange. He was yet to curry enough favor to fly on a broom.

Toweling off in the bathroom, Harry inspected his skin. Still pink from the shower, his complexion had lightened from not being in the sun. Other than the scars on his back and thighs, there were no other marks. His reading on healing had really paid off.

Padding into the bedroom to find clean robes, Harry was distracted at the tasks for the day. So, he didn’t realize that there was another person sitting in an overstuffed chair near the fire. He blinked hard, taking in the darkly dressed man. Sharp toed boots with a scuff or two, relaxed fit black trousers and a full robe closed at the belt line against the cold. Black eyes skipping over his body.

“What are you doing in here?” Harry asked, tone level and dismissing. It hadn’t taken long to learn that pattern.

“The Dark Lord sent me here.” Severus remained in his seat, eyes tracking Harry moving around gathering the items he was going to wear today. Something soft, maybe. “To check on your eyesight. Any changes?”

Harry dropped the towel and pulled on his trousers, ignoring the subtle leering.

“I doubt my Master would send you in here just to mark my progress.” Harry kept dressing. Severus had stood and made his way towards Harry, gliding the way he would approaching a misbehaving student. “Especially since I’m due for a meeting downstairs soon. Coming?”

“I think I would like to make you late, Potter.” Severus reached up a hand and touched Harry’s cheek with the back of his hand. He smelled metallic and earthy. “Would you spread your legs as easily for me as you would the Dark Lord?”

Harry tried leaning out of the way from the touch.

“Sir,” Harry made the effort to look vexed. “what are you doing?”

“Seeing if I could get a minute or two alone with such a beautiful specimen.” Severus leaned closer; breath hot against Harry’s face. “Care to show me what has drawn the Dark Lord’s attention?”

“No,” Harry stood his ground despite Severus getting closer. “I belong to my Master. Even if you’re his favorite, I would never let you touch me. Not without his permission.”

Severus smiled. Or, the facsimile did. Slowly, Severus’ face bubbled away, it took a minute or two to reveal who was behind this ruse. Harry watched; a bit astounded at this bit of magic. He’d never seen anything like this before. Soon, Voldemort stood in front of him, smiling wickedly and filling in the clothing.

“Good job, pet.” Voldemort cooed, leaning closer still to Harry. For a brief moment, he thought that the wizard was going to kiss him. “You are truly to be trusted.”

“Thank you, Master.” Harry remained where he was. “I am here for your use.”

“Good boy.” Voldemort pushed at Harry’s body, pushing still into the mattress. Dear Merlin, don’t let this be what Harry thought it was. Voldemort stared down at Harry, taking in his visage. It took Harry’s entire willpower not to shiver or show how disgusted he was at how familiar the man tried to be with him. Hands drifted and lingered methodically. But Harry might as well have been a cold fish. Clicking his tongue, Voldemort got up quickly, as if he wasn’t just pinning Harry into the mattress. “After the meeting, I have a job for you.” He waited for Harry to get up and straighten out his clothes. The man waved his hand to summon a handsome black cloak. It was thick and made for a cold winter.

“Of course, Master.” Harry bowed slightly and received the cloak from Voldemort. It must be a short meeting if Harry was meant to carry the heavy thing with him.

Harry was no more than a half step behind his Master. Eyes forward and chin up, Harry matched the Dark Lords pace, his body moving fluidly.

The manor was abuzz with activity. As it usually was directly before a meeting. Othertimes it was cold and bleak. Voldemort and the Malfoys Harry’s only companions. Harry ignored the devouring looks of Voldemort’s followers as they passed by. Rowle, in particular, taking a bit longer to continue undressing Harry. Face a placid mask, Harry sat next to his Master and waited for the short report from the real Severus.

“Dumbledore has yet to return to the castle.” The Death Eater Severus said. Harry could tell when he was Death Eater, Potions Master, or… whatever the man was to him before all this shit. “Delores is tightening her hold on the school. Many Slytherins have submitted themselves as her ‘junior inquisitors’.” Severus sneered, as if the title were a joke. Some, like Bellatrix, laughed. “Longbottom has been in her detention every week. He’s quite depressed.”

“Good.” Voldemort hissed. Harry’s stomach twisted. This had been his idea. His plan to terrorize the school, and by extension, the wizarding community. It was certainly distracting the public from the movements of the Death Eaters. “We have our plans for him. Something we hope will only make him more miserable. A beaten Longbottom is a dead one."

Bellatrix cackled in her agreement. Harry carefully tried to catalogue Severus’ reaction. There was none. The man was a statue in front of Harry. He wished he had the same fortitude as Severus did.

“For the time being, Severus, would you mind dropping hints about prophecies? We need his interest piqued. Don’t we my Pet.”

“Absolutely, Master.” Harry answered automatically. He adopted a haughty tone, tilting his head back slightly to gain an air of superiority. “Longbottom should be isolating himself by now. The boy has always been weak.”

Wrong. So very wrong. Neville was the strongest of them all. He had always been so afraid of everything. But by the end of first year, he had been the first to suggest they all go down to rescue the stone. The first to volunteer to go all the way back through the trials to run for help. He’d looked about ready to faint but was determined in his task.

“Anything else for us, Severus?” Voldemort asked, reaching up to pet the back of Harry’s neck.

“No, My Lord’s.” Severus bowed, his hair a curtain around his face. Before he picked himself back up, Harry felt a quick streak of pain in his head. Right at the base where Voldemort was tangling his fingers into his hair. And then another lingering one when Severus stood up fully, removing himself without command.

Harry watched Severus leave, his teachers’ robes barely fluttering behind him as a dogs’ ears would droop. 

“As you all know,” Voldemort addressed the rest of the room. “we have word that Longbottom’s parents will be in Wainstalls, north of Halifax. Harry will lead a party to destroy them. You will follow his commands as if my words flow through his mouth.” Nails dug into the back of Harry’s neck. “I will accept nothing less than their deaths.”

Shaking inside, Harry was allowed to choose his Death Eaters. Do not fail. Do not leave anyone alive. Harry had never been that far north when living with the Dursley’s. They hardly ever went into London. So, he would have to rely on someone else to side along him.

“Bellatrix, Rudolphus, Crowleys, and Lucius.” Harry knew that Lucius had hardly involved himself in direct attacks on villages. Instead, he’d busied himself with his actual job and manipulating the Ministry on behalf of the Dark Lord. Well, Harry was willing to finally get Lucius’ hands dirty. “We leave now.”

Harry stood, bowed to his Master, and led the party out of the Manor with little fanfare. Lucius had to get his house elf, Dobby, to retrieve his Death Eater cloak and mask since everyone else was already wearing their own.

“Harry,” Voldemort stalled the group from leaving the doors just yet. “Wear this.” Voldemort conjured up a mask for Harry, different than anyone else’s. It was the upper face of a snake, made of reflective metal that was sure to burn on Harry’s skin in the cold. “We must keep you a secret until the right time. It’s only been by some miracle that the oaf Longbottom has not mentioned your name to the press. Return to me victorious, my Pet.”

Harry took the mask, there were no straps or other attachments.

“If I could, My Little Lord.” Bellatrix approached Harry, spidery fingers reaching for the snake mask. She waved her wand over her own mask, then fixed it to her face, underneath her hood. Harry pulled his hood up and watched carefully as she muttered the spell aloud again and lifted the mask to his face. It stuck well. There was no itching or burning sensation from the metal being so cold, but the decorative fangs were so sharp that if Harry smiled, he would cut his cheeks on them. “A simple _finite_ will remove it.”

Harry turned and walked with the others to the edge of the Manor. The Crowleys and Rudolphus having moved ahead of them, waiting. Lucius bringing up the rear, likely dragging his feet.

“My Lord,” Lucius held out his arm, offering to side along. Harry thankfully took it, touching the man’s forearm, just enough to be engulfed by the man’s magic. Any more contact and Harry would likely be in trouble with his Master.

They arrived in the middle of the town. Apparently, the only place either of the group knew of it. It was sleeting here, the rain soaking into Harry’s robes quickly. The vehicle traffic was incredibly light, no one out on foot, so their presence had yet to be discovered.

“Find them.” Harry ordered. They all dispersed, knowing to contact the others when the Longbottoms were found. Harry distantly heard Bellatrix cackling, over his shoulder Harry could see streaks of red and green, and sometimes blue, indicating she was having her fun with the muggles. He knew by second-hand knowledge that the Crowleys would be doing the same, as well as Bellatrix’s silent husband. If Harry was lucky, he wouldn’t have to cast a single spell today.

Muggles had begun screaming, the alarm being raised through the streets. Homes were smashed and set alight. Fiend fire catching up and down the street. Harry pushed himself past the Muggles. Families hopping into vehicles, locking doors and struggling with the engine. Harry killed the vehicle and stunned the Muggles. Wordless magic came in handy, the red of a stunner looked eerily like that of a blood-letting curse.

Further down the street, Harry could see as people poured out from the small pub, parts of the building on fire. Coming face to face with the chaos, Harry briefly wondered if he could pretend that he’d taken another route. But then Lucius came around the corner, fire bellowing out from his wand.

Gritting his teeth, Harry lifted his own wand, people stopped in front of him staring at his mask in fear. Yet, it was his wand they should be afraid of. The blatant disbelief in what they were witnessing reflected wetly in their eyes. The look nearly stopped Harry from casting spells. Nearly.

Bellatrix came around another corner just to his left and could see him from down the alley he’d just came out of. He had no choice now.

“ _Avada Kedavra_.” Harry said with force. Anything quieter and his spell may not have worked. _You need intention, Potter._ Rowle had yelled at him a long time ago, hovering over him, smiling that sticky smile of his. _If you don’t feel like you can kill them, you won’t be able to._

The screaming had stopped. But the spells hadn’t. They kept casting, causing full destruction around them and spreading throughout the village. Bellatrix was certainly enjoying herself. But after nearly an hour, Rudolphus appeared from a destroyed shop and stepped closer to Harry, he looked at Harry straight on.

“The Longbottoms aren’t here, My Lord.” Rudolphus had a watery voice. Quiet and weak. Which severely contrasted with his spells. “What should we do.”

Breathing hard, Harry thought about their options. Was their information bad? Were the Longbottoms even here? Harry tried recalling who had given them the information. Who had it been?

“It’s a trap.” Harry breathed, he looked around Rudolphus to see Lucius approaching them, wand down and walking with purpose to them. “Call the others off.”

Harry sent up the _Morsdmorsde_ , the sickly green skull and snake winding its way up to the sky. Before he could even lower his wand, a volley of spells struck the building wall behind the three of them.

Ducking, Harry turned towards the other side of the road. There were three Aurors that had just apparated. Now five. Now ten.

“Shit.” Not waiting to die, Harry threw up a blocking spell, the best one he knew to cast given the limited time to react.

A couple of spells bounced off and back towards the Aurors. Striking one of them down. The shield caved in after another volley from all ten. It was now a battle.

Rudolphus and Lucius were breathing hard, attempting to block and attack at alternating times. Harry was actually impressed at the concerted efforts. He kept sending his own spells to the crimson cloaked Aurors. One man in particular caught Harry’s eye.

“We’re fucked.” Rudolphus said when the eleventh Auror arrived.

Lucius had left first. He couldn’t apparate, apparently, and instead took off in a cloud of dark smoke. It was heavily cloaking and worked well at hiding who was behind it. _The coward._

Harry kept up the blocks. It was the only thing he knew to do in front of so many. Rudolphus was struck with a stunning spell, hitting him in the shoulder. It was strong enough to bring the man to his knees.

“Get out of here.” Harry shouted to the man.

“Not without you, My Lord.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry couldn’t think of a single plan that ended up with them coming out on top. He couldn’t get any spell out besides _Protego_. Then, there was a green light coming from his right. It struck a couple of Aurors, their bodies crumpling in the snow like puppets with their strings cut. Some of the Aurors’ attentions were diverted and began firing at Bellatrix. Encouraged by his wife’s arrival, Rudolphus stood up and switched wand hands. He wasn’t much better, but it was more than nothing.

Harry was beginning to see that they were getting the edge on the Aurors, but their backs were still up against the wall. That strange wizard was still standing, even after two more of his colleagues were cast down, one of them in full seizure and frothing at the mouth. He had a mean face, hair wild and blowing around him in the storm kicking up around them, a thick leather, muggle style trench coat on, with a mechanical eye strapped to his face. The eye had not moved from Harry’s face. It was unnerving.

There was a strong spell sent his way, Harry ducked as quickly as he could. It had nearly got him in the head, as it was, his cloak hood was destroyed as well as the brick wall behind him. Huffing with relief to still be alive, Harry couldn’t afford to rejoice just yet. Rudolphus had blocked a spell that was coming at Harry as he was still on the ground. The move placed a jinx to the man, knocking him against the wall. Leg-lock. Rudolphus hit his head, the sickly sound made Harry think the man was out cold.

Just before Harry could get back on his feet, the Crowley’s appeared. Breathing an odd sigh of relief, Harry renewed his efforts. With the twins’ arrival, more Aurors fell, some dead, others writhing in obvious pain, and some who had been eviscerated. Nothing Harry hadn’t seen or done before.

The Auror numbers had dwindled down to three. Including the odd-looking man. Someone who had yet to be touched by spell or sleet apparently. Growling, Harry had enough, they were getting nowhere, and even Bellatrix was silent save for her grunts and shouting of curses. If Harry wanted to get out of this alive, he was going to have to do something.

“Bella, here.” Harry commanded. Without even a thought, Bellatrix appeared directly in front of Harry, blocking spells for him as the angry looking Auror hadn’t lightened up.

Harry needed time. Only seconds. And he needed to focus. He had to draw on a power he had only ever touched when he was at his wits end in training. When Voldemort had pushed him so hard, he could barely lift a finger. It was another well of magic. Just as cold as the air around him, Harry started shivering when he began to draw on it. He’d never used it before when he could help it because it gave him a migraine that threw him on his ass for days.

Breathing evenly, Harry kept pulling, and pulling, until he felt like he couldn’t take any more. He was stuffed full, completely to the brim, and just in time. Bellatrix had fallen to her knees. Screaming in anger as she did.

Harry took one deep breath as he watched the tip of the angry Auror’s wand light up. Blinding white even against the falling snow. Harry threw up his hand, as if to catch the spell that would surely incapacitate him. From his open hand, came a wave of bright blue. Pure magic or a spell, Harry couldn’t tell. Harry watched as the band of magic pressed closer and closer to the four Aurors. At the last few feet, the wave ignited into an orange mass of fire.

Before he could pass out in pain, Harry turned and grabbed the sleeve of Rudolphus and shouted at the remaining Death Eaters to retreat. Harry knew the way back. He knew the very edge of the Manor where someone could come running out to help them.

Landing on his knees, Harry pitched over Rudolphus’ still body. Distantly, Harry could hear Bellatrix and the Crowley’s pop into existence. He breathed a sigh of relief. With everyone here, Harry hadn’t failed completely.

“WHAT HAPPENED!” Voldemort bellowed. Harry winced as his head split into two. The small well of hidden magic pulsed to quietness. As if it was just as tired as Harry was.

“It was a trap, Master.” Harry bit out, anger the only thing keeping him conscious. “As soon as the Aurors showed up, Lucius fled. We stayed behind. The Longbottoms weren’t there.”

Enraged, Voldemort gave a stinging jinx to Bellatrix, she fell to her knees again and held back her scream. Voldemort turned to the Crowley’s and blasted them twenty ten feet in the air with a single slashing of his wand.

“That rat deserves to die.” Voldemort stood in the snow, fuming and looking down on Harry. The only thing Harry could do was breath through the pain, the darkening sky offering its condolences to Harry’s migraine. “Mundungus Fletcher will pay for this.”

“My Lord.” Bellatrix whispered, frightened in Voldemort’s fury. Red eyes snapped to the witch; his face pinched. “It was Mad Eye. He was there.” Bellatrix didn’t sound like she was pleading for forgiveness. But definitely placating. “Your vessel was able to fight him off, even after Rudolphus was knocked unconscious.”

A breath, or two, and red eyes landed on Harry. He wanted to curl up under the scrutiny. He wasn’t sure who “Mad Eye” was, but he must be a hell of an Auror if the anger from Voldemort’s face could fall.

“Is that so, my Pet?” Voldemort squatted down to meet Harry’s eyes more clearly. The migraine enveloping Harry nearly completely. “Perhaps a reward is in order, then.”

“Th’nk you, M’st’r.” Harry mumbled. It was one more breath before Harry lost consciousness.

Alastair was barely able to raise a shield against the burst of fire and flame. What came out of that boy’s hands was pure magic. But for it to have evolved into something akin to Fiend Fire was nearly impossible without a catalyst. Without another commanding spell. And within the entire fight, the boy had spoken his spells clearly. Forcefully. With passion.

“Sir?” One of the Aurors, he forgets the name, stood dumbfounded. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Alastair grunted. “Go back and call for the healers.”

The wizard left without another word. Alastair took in the damage done. Everything outside of his shield was utterly destroyed down to dust and charcoal. Unfortunately, some of the Aurors who had fallen further away from him were part of the casualties. It was immense power. How the boy was able to manage that, he couldn’t say.

When the healers showed up, Alastair directed them to the fallen Aurors, then further out to check on the muggles of the town. There were buildings burning, vehicle windscreens busted in. It was disgusting, through the haze of the green Death Mark floating in the sky, hovering menacingly.

“What happened here?” One of the healers asked, amazed at the chaos. They looked too young to have been around in the first war. This was nothing compared to a full party of Death Eaters. But he didn’t console the man with words. Instead, he grunted and looked around for himself.

He was able to track the spells from the angles of scorches and destruction. There was always a trace of magic left behind, usually visible for a few hours. Especially with his eye was it easier to see where the point of origin was. He was familiar with every witch and wizard that was present. Even Lucius Malfoy, the coward. Alastair had seen enough of the man’s features to recognize him before he left in a cloud of pure dark magic.

Each of these Death Eaters had signature spells they typically used. Rudolphus was left-handed, his wife switch. The twins dueled back to back, one plowing through, the other to clean up any missed victims. Bellatrix’s spells were wild, sometimes thrown with no control or aim. Rudolphus was the more controlled and reserved of the two, but no less deadly. The only one that he didn’t recognize was the one who’d thrown the wild burst of magic. The one with the unique Death Eater mask. Which he could clearly follow from the original apparition point.

Alastair followed, noticing that doors had been thrown open, windows shuttered, footprints in the snow at full running speed ahead of the wizard. But not a single spell thrown. Confused, Alastair stopped, looked around and realized that this street had been untouched. How peculiar. The wizards’ footprints were small, given the stature of the wizard Alastair could have bet he was unusually petite. And unwilling to cast against fleeing victims who eventually met the unforgiving wand points of Bellatrix or Rudolphus.

It wasn’t until the wizard had turned onto the street the final fight had ended on, there were no traces of spells. Either this wizard was conflicted in his alliance with the Dark Lord or he was looking for someone.

“I need a list of all that were living here.” Alastair asked a passing Auror. “Even if they’re not counted among the dead. Include extended and immediate family.”

“Sir.” The Auror snapped to, walking away with purpose, not letting anyone distract her. He liked Aurors like that. No fuss. No questions. It was routine to request such a registry in case any witch or wizard had muggle relatives in a targeted town. But requesting them now meant he would get the information expedited.

It took a couple of hours to trace the path of the younger Death Eater. Mostly because there was little magical signature. Until he got to the still burning pub. That was when the boy began casting with true conviction. The killing curse directed at the wave of scared Muggles, even if Lucius was directly behind them. Bellatrix must have been the reason why the boy switched from stunners and non-lethal jinxes to the killing curse.

The leaked information through Mundungus Fletcher said that the Longbottoms were here on an investigation of spellcasting in front of muggles. If that wizard was looking for someone, then likely he was looking for them.

“Dammit.” Alastair growled. He turned on the spot and had to apparate five times before arriving at the edges of Hogwarts.

It was quiet. The doors sealed shut and uninviting. Snow falling in large clumps, feathering down onto the two feet of snow. Not deterred, Alastair limped up to the large doors and banged on them.

“Alastair Moody, Auror.” He announced to no one but the castle. There was a series of clanging and banging until all the locks were removed and the doors opened quietly.

Limping inside, Alastair caught sight of Minerva McGonagall. She looked surprised, then relieved, then worried.

“What is it, Alastair?” Minerva asked, looking as radiant as ever.

“Need to speak to Severus.” Alastair grunted and began making his way towards the dungeons. “He in?”

“Of course,” Minerva followed at a quick pace, heels clicking on the stones. “he’s monitoring detention right now. This way. Though I should warn you. He’s just gotten out of the Medical Wing. Collapsed suddenly. Out of nowhere! He says he’s fine, but I know he has a migraine.”

They made a detour halfway down and towards a part of the castle he hadn’t been to since he was a boy. Choosing to continue shadowing Minerva, he took in her robes and posture. As straight as ever, given her love of dancing as a girl and young woman. She had been the most graceful dancer Alastair had ever seen. Nearly floating across the marble, smiling demurely at her partners. She wore a thick wool open robe and if he remembered seeing properly, had a crushed emerald full-length dress with a snug vest. Beautiful.

“Be nice, Alastair.” Minerva called, dragging Alastair out of his musings. “Severus, you have a visitor; I can take care of the students for a while.”

“Thank you.” Severus sounded stressed. He must not get many visitors. Upon exiting the room, he immediately recognized Alastair, face impossibly pale. “May I help you?”

“I need a picture of Potter.” Alastair didn’t bother beating around the bush. “Got one?”

Stiffening, Severus nodded almost imperceptibly. Alastair followed the man to his personal chambers. It didn’t take but a couple of minutes, the entire time they were silent. Alastair took a rare moment to pray that he was wrong. When they arrived, Severus paused by the door before opening it though he didn’t dare turn back to face Alastair. Likely praying to his own deities.

“Why do you need it?” Severus’ voice was small, careful.

“I’ll tell you when I see it.” Alastair has never been cruel. But he believed that he could afford them both the anxiety of revealing the reason why he was here just a moment longer.

The door opened slowly, as if Severus was afraid of a cat getting out. He led the way across the modest sitting room and to his bedroom. Alastair afforded his heartbeat to pick up in anticipation. He threw up another prayer before Severus went to a nightstand. Curious, Alastair watched Severus slowly reveal a little hiding place of the requested photo. It was facedown inside, on top of rolling bottles of pain potions and Dreamless Sleep.

“It’s the only one I have.” Severus conveying his wish for it not to be destroyed or gathered as evidence. “What happened?”

“Let me see.” Alastair tried speaking softly, but his voice was all gravel. With reluctance Severus handed over a stick framed photo. Inside it was a magic photograph of six students all staring into the camera, though only one with a smile so bright it hurt Alastair to look at. He saw liquid green eyes shining behind glasses, a pink mouth stretched over white teeth. A small dimple nearly forming on one side. He was the shortest of the group.

“For Merlin’s sake, what is it, Moody!” Severus sounded in pain. On the verge of collapsing in on himself. “Is he still alive?”

What could Alastair say to mitigate the knowledge of what had happened? What could there be done to protect the both of them from the truth?

“He’s alive.” Alastair kept looking at the photo. Of the smiling little boy, so innocent and happy. It was different than the wild-eyed young man he saw today. Aiming a wand just as deadly at the Aurors. Green sparking from the tip with horrible accuracy. “He was there. At a small muggle village north of Halifax.”

“No.” Severus knew. He knew what that meant. The news had yet to reach the public. The press hadn’t even been there yet, circling like hungry vultures. “Not Harry.” His voice cracked. His breathing increased. Alastair kept looking at the photo.

“He killed Aurors this night, Severus.” Carefully, Alastair put the frame back inside the drawer and closed it gently. “He wasn’t forced.” Alastair talked over the denials of a weeping man. “He had his own mask.”

Alastair couldn’t leave Severus alone. Even if he is an ex-Death Eater. This man before him was a wizard who had dared to love. Someone who had extended his help and his protection and began to care for a child. Regardless for what was deemed appropriate for a teacher. Severus’ love had been pure. And the wailing mess in front of Alastair was a broken man.

Alastair couldn’t make it to the ground to sit with Severus. His prosthetic would let him down, but hardly ever up gracefully. So, he sat at the edge of the bed, offering silent support. Severus wailed and bellowed like a wounded animal clutching at his chest and threatening to rip out his hair. Wild magic erupted out from him in small waves, knocking down a couple of candles nearby and a hung painting. Severus clutched at his heart then hid his face in his other hand.

It took nearly half an hour. And after crying his eyes dry, Alastair gave the younger man a glass of water. Severus drank with long sips, hands shaking. Alastair couldn’t pity this man. Pity wouldn’t help him now, nor would it be accepted. So, he sat silently.

“You have to be wrong.” Severus finally spoke, voice hoarse. He shook his head, limp hair plastered to his heated face. “But you’re not. Are you?”

“I was able to see underneath his mask.” Alastair refilled Severus’ cup with a wave of his wand. He was magically exhausted, but the pitcher of water he could fill from the kitchen would likely break this tender moment between them. “He avoided killing the muggles at first, but he also didn’t save them all.” Alastair looked down at his hands. He didn’t realize he had blood on him. “He’s incredibly powerful."

“He was talented with his defensive spells.” Severus tried standing up, his legs weak from falling asleep. He balanced on the nightstand behind him. “He was a seeker for Slytherin. Very quick, and very talented.”

Severus sounded like he was mourning some more. Thinking back to the innocent boy Harry Potter had once been lost to whatever darkness he’d been dragged into.

“The Dark Lord has his talons deep in him.” Alastair stood, getting in Severus’ face. “You know I hardly trust you, Severus. Being the one who caught you. But I can see that you want to save him. That you want to save as many as you can. Potter must have tried tonight. Not able to do what you had taught him to do.” Severus looked up, black eyes searching his face. “He loves his friends. He loves you. He wouldn’t abandon that. It’s dangerous business, being in the clutches of a dark wizard. So, I believe you when you say that Potter is smart. That he’d do anything to survive.

“The question is: are you going to give up on him? You can’t’ve protected him forever from the darkness. He’s embroiled in it now, but he’s fighting. Isn’t he? There is hope. Don’t give up on him now. Not now that he needs saving most of all. You’ve killed before and you were able to raise a beautiful boy.”

Alastair pointed at the closed nightstand where the picture frame lay face up. Severus turned slightly to look down and behind him. He swallowed thickly, absorbing what Alastair had said. He took one steadying breath. Then another. And when several had passed, he stood up straight, chin level with the floor. _This_ was Severus Snape. _This_ was the determined and stubborn ex-Death Eater he had once despised.

“I won’t leave him alone.” Severus repeated himself from months prior. “I’ll do whatever I can to save him.”

“Good.” Alastair nodded. He was confident that The Order hadn’t lost a valuable asset. And Harry Potter’s only hope. “Now, he had to have been magically injured after his last bit of wild magic. I can’t imagine that he was conscious by the time he made it to their hideout.”

“Wild magic?” Severus blinked hard a few times, cataloguing what Alastair was saying. “Didn’t you say he had a wand tonight? His own? Then he wouldn’t have been able to use wild magic.”

“When I said wild, I suppose I meant magic that wasn’t originally his own.” Alastair stood back, contemplating what he’d seen. There was no ring of destroyed life around Potter. No absorption of the wildlife around them. But he’d gotten if from somewhere. “Do you think he is still connected to the Dark Lord? Able to use his magic?”

“No,” Severus frowned, eyes jumping back and forth. Between the two of them, they had a lot of experience with Dark and Black magic. “we would have seen a drainage in either of them.”

“Didn’t Minerva say you’d just been out of hospital?” Alastair cocked his head, magical eye taking Severus in. “You’re magically exhausted. Anything specific happen before your trip?”

“A splitting migraine, then –” Severus cut his eyes to Alastair, disbelief painted over bottomless eyes, “—I fainted, for a few seconds. I was exhausted and weak. But how could that be? How did this happen?”

“Dunno.” Alastair turned on his heel and moved swiftly towards the door. “I need to read some books. Talk to some people.” He stopped sharply then whirled on Severus. “Don’t tell anyone. Not even Albus.”

“How could this have happened?”

Beats Alastair. If this is what he believes it is, then there is no way either of them could have done this without knowing. Something like this takes lengthy rites and spells. It takes years of knowing your partner inside and out.

Unless… hadn’t Albus said that Severus and Potter had been able to have a mental connection with the assistance of that thrice blasted pocket mirror?

Alastair left without another word, letting himself out of the castle and across the banks of snow. He had some research to do. It took some time but as soon as he knew he was safe; Alastair doubled his wards and strengthened his mental shields. There was no way he was going to be contaminated by that object.

On his desk sat a glass box with several _ofuda_ sticking to it. Dumbledore had given the item over when he was unable to find the pocket mirror’s origins. After some digging and educational trips to ancient shrines in Japan, he found out what it was. And it might have been the only thing saving Harry from being fully consumed in bonding to Voldemort.


	7. The Prophecy Speaks

Neville couldn’t believe his ears. In the middle of their midterms, facilitated by _Headmistress_ Umbridge, there were a series of bangs and flickering sounds. It progressively got louder after a few heartbeats. Then the sound was just outside the Great Hall doors. Looking back to Umbridge, Neville could see the pure confusion in her eyes. Mouth pinching, she stepped down from the golden chair Dumbledore had once occupied and stomped her way to the large doors.

The bangs had gotten silent, but it didn’t stop her. Neville looked over to Hermione, who was sitting next to him during the test and gave her a quizzical look. She shook her head, not knowing what was going on either. Neville felt fear creeping up into his throat. What if someone was attacking the school? What if the Death Eaters had gotten past the security wards Severus said was impenetrable?

The doors swung open, with and explosion there were streaks of red, yellow, orange, and green sparks trailed through the air. Some burst in the air with wild starbursts of colors. Fireworks. They were fireworks. Before Neville could relax, he heard shouts of exhilaration before twin blurs of crimson flew into the Great Hall. A collection of cheers sounded up, rising into a cacophony. Tests flew into the air, more fireworks whistled and exploded. Some singeing the robes of the junior inquisitors. The others fluttering about harmlessly.

“STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!” Umbridge’s shouting rose up against cheering. Soon what seemed like the entire school poured into the Great Hall to see the excitement.

Neville wasn’t ashamed to say that he wanted to get a better look. Umbridge was yelling and shrieking something fierce. Excited chatter rose up around Neville, the press of bodies hemming him in and he was forced to follow the crowds outside. He was just in time to see Fred and George following Umbridge on their brooms, pelting her with fireworks and stink bombs.

It was a beautiful sight, Neville chuckled and cheered on the Weasley twins alongside everyone else. Ron and Draco came up to Neville’s right, bumping into him and making knowing looks between them all. The twin’s humiliating the woman the way they were, it was the general hope that Umbridge would finally give up and leave the school. Let everything go back to the way things should be.

“Finally gets what’s owed her.” Ron said with glee, arm securely around his boyfriend. Draco grinning up to the taller boy with something like desire. Neville tried his best to forget what that look could possibly mean. Embarrassed that he caught them in a special moment.

The crowd of students hadn’t dissipated. Instead, they lingered, talking excitedly as Umbridge disappeared in the Forbidden Forest, shepherded by blasting fireworks. Neville watched as the twins kept going, lifting up over the forest and onwards. Further and further away from the school.

“Are they coming back, Ron?” Draco asked, his voice nearly drowned out by the crowd.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Ron answered. When the sound of a messy kiss couldn’t be drowned by the milling crowd, Neville took his leave. Intimacy always made him uncomfortable.

Turning to head back into the castle, Neville noticed Severus standing at the top of the stairs, leading to the entrance of the school.

“Good morning, sir.” Neville gave a half-grin. Even if he knew that the Potions Professor had not been a good mood since the last Death Eater attack a month ago, he kept trying to pull the man into light conversation. The man was obviously distracted by something.

“Good morning, Longbottom.” Severus half-turned, and lead Neville back into the castle. It was quieter in here and Neville instantly felt less pressure. “This does not mean, by any reason, that your midterms have been cancelled. This is the last testing of your knowledge before your O.W.L.s in two months’ time.”

“Of course, sir.” Neville had the decency to not chuckle at the admonishment. It was enough for Neville that the man was finally talking to him.

For nearly the entire past month, Severus had been reserved, lost in thought, and easier distracted than was typical. Draco and Hermione had expressed how worried they were for their favorite professor. Severus had developed extra baggage underneath his eyes, dark circles threatening to cave into his skull. His hair was lankier and less taken care of. Even the way the man dressed had sloughed off. He wasn’t as refined and polished as he usually was.

“Are you okay?” Neville asked, he was sick and tired of not knowing what Severus was hiding. “It’s just, you haven’t been yourself in a while. And we’re worried for you.”

Severus remained placid. His face neutral, yet his eyes were shuttered.

“It is nothing that concerns the lot of you.” Severus said evenly. His gaze softened when Neville leaned in to catch his eyes. “If I thought it would be important to you or the rest of your rag-tag team, I would let you know.” Severus stopped in the middle of the hall, hand gently on Neville’s shoulder. “Though I will tell you this. It is imperative that you remain close. Do not go wandering off on your own. Stay where I can see you?”

The last few words haunted Neville. The man’s voice shook. His face nearly collapsing into signs of grief that Neville was all too familiar with. Severus’ hand on Neville’s shoulder tightened, not wanting to let go.

“I will.” Neville answered the soft question.

“Promise me.”

“I promise, Severus.” Neville responded. He was scared. He couldn’t help it. Severus hardly ever showed his emotions. When he did, it was usually anger and snide superiority. This was almost nothing like Severus at all.

Severus was just wrapping up his third-year class for the day. Umbridge had returned and was in a rage. He thoughtfully reminded her that she shouldn’t be punishing any other student, even the remaining Weasley’s, because of what the twins had done. Severus further reminded her that the fifth-year midterm results were due in two days and if the students don’t finish today, then the owl posting would be late to the Board of Governor officials.

The remaining third-years filtered out cautiously. Severus had been rather subdued since Moody’s visit. He hadn’t heard anything back yet, concerning his headaches and Harry’s access to a well of magic. Severus was sure that Moody was implying that Harry, somehow, had access to Severus’ magic. Though how that happened was a mystery to even Severus.

He’d done his own research, but nothing was forthcoming. Short of a bonding, there was no way that Harry would be able to utilize Severus’ own magical core.

“Sir,” Severus was interrupted by Blaise. “May I ask you something? Regarding Harry.”

Startled, Severus kept his face neutral until he could sit behind his classroom desk. What was the boy going to ask? What secrets should he keep for their sake? Was there really anything that Severus wouldn’t tell them?

“Go on.”

“Sir, I had a question, an observance I made in our first-year. I was hoping that you could help me understand what had been going on.” Blaise stepped further into the classroom. The boy was already dressed into his casual clothes, though finer than the school robes. “Harry had exhibited some curious behavior. All I would like to know is, if you knew he’d been abused in his home with the Muggles?”

Severus’ brain short-circuted. Abused? Harry? Well, of course he may have been restricted in his consumption of food, and more than likely neglected of parental love. But there had been that one night, right before flying lessons, where Harry had abruptly stopped talking to Severus. The mental link breaking off quickly and with some finality. All after Severus had asked of the same thing from Harry.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Severus said haltingly. “I know his family wasn’t the most caring. But I don’t think that he was abused.”

“Sir,” Blaise walked closer, but only after closing the door behind him, locking and silencing it. Severus’s hair stood on ends. “I’m not asking if he was. I’m asking if you knew he had been abused by the Muggles.”

“What?”

“Harry didn’t know we knew. But he often had nightmares. He’d speak out, talk in his sleep about things that happened. Crabbe noticed the way Harry spoke, meant that something more than physical abuse had happened.”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Severus bit out. His heart had picked up, rage filling his veins, threatening to set him on fire. Severus stood up; fists placed on the desk in a threatening manner. “What do you think you know about my boy?”

“I’m only stating the facts, Professor.” Blaise was horrendously polite. It set Severus’ teeth on edge. “We saw how Harry had scars on his back, his stomach. It spoke of physical abuse without the benefit of magical healing. There was also the concern of his physical condition, he’d obviously been starved. He got nervous and skittish when voices were raised. He hated bullies, stood up for the weak. Harry more often than not wake up crying or screaming.”

“Stop!” Severus came around the desk, vision swimming. “Why are you saying these things? Why are you bringing this up?”

“Because I thought you could be reminded of why we need to get him back.” Blaise hadn’t budged from his spot. Despite Severus nearly charging him. “Harry has already suffered, but he’d loved us regardless. Loved you. It was obvious.

“He made sure Neville was included, not out of pity, but out of want to have him around. After Draco’s nightmare, Harry made an effort to be his friend, even if Draco didn’t trust him yet. Ron and Hermione were some of his first friends, even before me. He was obsessed with making sure we were okay.”

“You may have to clarify yourself, Mister Zabini. Your circular and repetitive talking rather has no meaning.” Severus stood as tall as he could, looming over the equally tall boy. Severus stared into matching black eyes and never shifted. “I know how kind and gentle Harry is. I practically raised him. Of course, he’d never hurt or isolate any one of you. Anyone, rather, that he deemed worthy of his adoring attention. Harry is the kindest, and most beautiful child I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Though I never knew the extent to his abuse, I was aware something had happened. And when I get him back, I will make sure he wants for nothing. And can heal from his abysmal past.”

“There you are.” Blaise had the audacity to smile. “Thought we lost you there for a mo.” Blinking, Severus stepped back. What had Blaise just say? “We had been worried about you. You’ve been practically listless. We thought you’d lost your determination.”

Severus allowed himself to stare down his student. One of The Five. One of the untouchables. It occurred to Severus that Blaise was incredibly observant, always measuring and calculating a person by their words and actions. The subtlety to which he does so makes most people believe that Blaise was indifferent and uncaring. When, in fact, Blaise had been the first one to go to Ron when the young couple were fighting. Soothing the red-head from heated anger and consoling broken hearts.

Blaise was like an undercurrent. Unseen and deadly. Forceful and unforgettable once you’ve _seen_ him. It was a wonder he didn’t have his own following.

“I see.” Severus straightened, cheeks blushing a bit. “You said all those things to ‘wake me up’? How very astute of you, Mister Zabini, to notice the source of my despair.”

“All of it true, sir.” Blaise straightened his casual robes. A handsome burgundy with black trim. An ash gray vest made of satin stretched across his lithe body. Not that Severus was looking, merely noticing the aesthetic Blaise was going for. “Harry’s spent all of his life, save the nine months in school, abused and dictated over. We’re only hoping that you can be able to be there for him. However, he may need. Because you seem to be the only one he had ever reacted to.”

“Don’t worry, Mister Zabini,” Severus smoothed back his hair. Maybe he should set aside some time to take care of himself. His life had been in a constant up and down since Harry’s disappearance. “I don’t plan on leaving Harry alone. Not even by his request.”

Blaise smiled. A gentle little smile that Severus knew was as rare as his own.

“Dinner is soon. I hope to finally see you there?” Blaise looked Severus up and down pointedly. “You’ll need your strength if Harry is still as stubborn as he used to be. Or worse.”

Severus’ chuckle followed Blaise out the door.

The nerve and gall of that boy. How dare he be concerned for Severus’ person. Concerned for his feelings and emotional state. How dare Severus let himself get so far deep into his depression that he caused others to worry about him.

He guessed that his only consolation was the fact that neither five student’s dare call Severus ‘dad’, or ‘father’. He was glad none were cheeky enough – or suicidal enough – to call Severus ‘daddy’.

Scrubbing his face, Severus took a Pepper-Up and put on a clean and tidy pair of robes. Simple and plain in comparison to his more polished ones.

 _Thought so._ Came a memory of Harry’s husky voice, tired and weak. The analytical look Harry gave Severus the night he fixed the boys’ vision stuck to his memory. Harry was still sweaty and disheveled. And for the first time ever, Severus was ashamed to realize how handsome his boy had grown up to be. He had so many more years to fill out and firm up. But the quintessentially ‘Harry’ look in the green eyes was fatally attractive. Severus only hoped that Harry’s status and the power he wields is enough to keep the more unsavory Death Eaters from him.

Dinner was nice, especially since Severus was able to focus more on getting to Harry. Finding a way to save him. Or, simply, thinking of Harry.

Severus was able to take his time at the teachers’ table and enjoy a few extra glasses of wine with Minerva. Despite Umbridge’s return to the table, the toad woman couldn’t steal away the feeling that Blaise had sifted out of him. So, it was with the feeling of slight inebriation and lifted spirits that Severus made his way down to his chambers.

Feeling better than he had in a while, Severus could feel an echoing desire stirring up in him. He’d always gotten a little randy after a couple of glasses of wine. And the goblin made stuff was some of the more potent one’s available to staff members.

Careful to place his robes in the bureau, Severus began slowly stripping, enjoying the swimming in his mind. He thought of some of his more handsy lovers. Talented and seeking hands rubbing over his chest, plucking at clothed nipples. Severus groaned, feeling the tingle of excitement bubbling to the surface.

The peacoat had to go, and after some thinking, the rest of his clothes had soon followed. Severus stood completely naked in the middle of his rooms. A couple of candles burning throughout the room. Severus cast a red glow to them and enjoyed the elevated sensuality.

His blood was simmering, threatening to boil over. One hand continued to pluck and pinch his nipples, causing him to groan and twitch. His cock began curling up towards his stomach. Full and heavy, Severus trailed his other hand down, down, brushing against his sensitive hips and grasped the base of his cock. The tingling pleasure blindsiding him.

How long had it been since he’d been pleasured? Since his last lover three years ago? Surely there had to be other occasions when he’s come all over his chest. Or inside someone.

Irrespective of the last time he’d had sex, Severus reached further down and pulled lightly on his heavy balls. Yes. It had certainly been a long time. Severus’ hand at his chest reached up and pulled at his own hair. His mouth opened and allowed a loud moan to echo in the warm bedroom.

All he needed was a hot body behind him. Guiding and forcing him to move. To pleasure his partner. Though Severus had never been in the BDSM scene, one of his lovers had. He’d been described as a service dom. Willing to command a sub, but only at the command of the original dom. Severus had to agree that he loved a pushy partner. One that could power bottom and command Severus to use and make love to them. He had a couple of scars on his back that advertised the type of aggressive love making some of them had.

Severus stroked his cock and dipped his finger in his slit to spread the pre-come there. He imagined a talented mouth, pink lips wrapping around the head of his cock and threatening with their teeth. Severus’ hips twitched and pressed his cock into a tight fist. It could feel like a tight throat. One that was open and willing to be fucked.

Pulling on his hair some more, Severus stumbled over to the bed on wobbly legs, and fell onto the top sheets. He was aching. His ass twitching and flexing to be filled.

He summoned one of his rarely used toys, sent a lubricating spell to it, and guided it magically to his ass. Knees spread and kept his hips up as he kept jacking his cock. He groaned when he felt the head of the smooth dildo at his entrance.

“Oh, gods!” Severus groaned when the toy pressed further in, threatening to fuck him nearly dry. He liked the tease. And on occasion, enjoyed being fucked or pegged. Tonight seemed to be no different. His spare hand reached around behind him and began fingering through the mess of lubrication. He was drunk enough that he was pretty loose. So it didn’t take long until he could take three fingers.

Magic lined up the dildo, and pressed firmly inside of him, anal walls constricting around the silicone. Severus shouted in ecstasy. Merlin he was out of practice.

Eager to get off, Severus increased the motion on his cock, one had jerking the other pulling on his balls. It was so delicious, the dildo pounding into his at a sedate pace.

“More, oh fuck, more.” Severus groaned, wandlessly spelling the dildo to enter him faster, harder, hitting deeper inside him. Alcohol blessed his veins and coaxed a name out of him that he thought he’d never utter in bed. “Harry, oh, gods, Harry, fuck me.”

The thought of the lithe boy, petite and strong, pounding into his ass, gripping his hips tightly, made Severus cum. Hard. He saw stars and nearly blacked out. The dildo still pounding inside him, threatening to drive Severus to be over sensitized. But he kept cumming. Ropes of it soaking into his bed sheets. He kept up a litany Harry’s name. Like a prayer. Like the name of his sin.

Severus allowed the dildo to keep going, speeding up and slamming into his lax body. Maybe it was punishment. For thinking of his boy like this. But the thought that Harry was still fucking him, uncaring of how sensitive Severus was drove the heat higher inside him. Firm cock milking his prostate. Severus began screaming, writhing on the punishing rhythm.

He let it keep going until he got hard again. Let it bruise his ass, keeping up the forceful thrusts until he came again. Stealing all strength and consciousness from him. Forcing thoughts of Harry fucking him, wanting to bend him this way and that until he was limber and doll like.

This was a fantasy unlike any before. But it kept going. He shouted and begged, as if Harry were there to be merciful. As if his boy cared about the pervert he obviously was. Severus rolled onto his back, the bewitched dildo following his movements. Stabbing into him ruthlessly. He was spent. Too far gone to do much about it.

He cancelled the spell. The dildo still lodged inside him. Severus huffed, sweat cooling on his skin in pools. His body was electrified. His soul had lifted into the heavens, stolen from his body. It was the most satisfying orgasms he’d ever had. And he’d thought of his beloved Harry.

The boy surely wouldn’t want him if he ever found out about this night.

Harry dried himself off with harsh scrubs. Even if the towel was as soft as rabbit’s fur, Harry rubbed himself down until his skin was red. He was more or less disturbed by the fantasy that came out of nowhere while he was jerking off. And it had been one of the rare times he’d been left alone long enough to experience a climax. What bothered him, however, was the face he imagined while fucking into his fist.

Severus.

Black hair, pale skin, face flushed with arousal. Near the end, he imagined fucking into his professor. His... fuck. He still had no name for what they were to each other. Though, if his fantasy a half hour ago was anything to go by, he obviously wanted the man. Sexually.

“Fuck.” Harry threw the towel down, not caring that his hair was still dripping cool water down his back. He had to straighten his thoughts out. He would hate for Severus to all of a sudden hear Harry’s thoughts again and know that he’d been masturbating to images of Severus on his hands and knees, pumping his own cock while he drove harshly into the older man. He’d imagined almost dragging three orgasms from the man. But what had tipped him over the edge was Severus’ voice, broken and nearly sobbing _“More, oh fuck, more. Harry, oh, gods, Harry, fuck me.”_

He had never had that fantasy before. But the unexpected jolt of desire pushed him over, never to return to the innocence their relationship had ever been.

Harry jerkily drew his robes up and dressed. Yanking fine cloth and threads nearly to pop and tear. He was so distracted with his conflicted thoughts that he missed the hiding figure in the hallways.

“Poor, Little Lord.” A deranged and high-pitched voice wasn’t even loud enough to echo. “Something vexes you?”

Harry wished he had been paying attention now. He hated this woman with every fiber of his body. She was conniving, unhinged, and incredibly cruel. She particularly enjoyed torturing her prey with her hands. Not even using a wand.

“Only your ever-uplifting presence, Bella.” Harry mumbled, not stopping to stay and chat. He didn’t trust her much to be alone with her for lengths of time. Though, when it came to fighting against Aurors, they were well matched in styles and quickness. It made Harry sick when he figured that out.

“Oh, little Potter.” Bellatrix hissed. She hadn’t liked it when Harry began calling her Bella. As if she were some precious, tender, fragile thing. “Is our Master not fulfilling your boyish desires?” A hand trailed down the center of Harry’s back. He shivered when he thought it might actually be one of her knives. “Are you hoping to sew your seeds?”

“Oh, yes.” Harry hadn’t stopped, even when she tried groping his ass through his robes. “I’m jumping at the chance to lose my virginity to the first pair of spread legs I see.” Bellatrix hissed. He had thought, at some point after their daily interactions, that she hoped to ingratiate herself with Harry in order to possibly influence the Dark Lords’ want for her. “Unfortunately for you, slag, I belong to my Master. My body is his to do with what he wants. And your girlish infatuations hold no temptation for me.”

Her mouth pursed in a frown. If she were any less deranged, or evil, or filled with less bloodlust, Harry would think it would be attractive on her. But he knew who she was. And he knew his particular proclivities. And she lacked the hardware.

“You’re a waste of a perfectly good cock.” Bellatrix nearly growled. Harry never thought of a woman capable of growling. But here she was. Though she was more animal than human.

“As if you’d know what my cock looks like.”

“Oh, I do, Little Lord.” Bellatrix creeped closer to him, nearly pressing him into the walls. He had a quick thought to that blond berk Gryffindor his only year at Hogwarts. “And I know who’s name you call when you think no one listens.”

“That would be an amazing feat. Considering I have never said anyone’s name while masturbating.” Harry was starting to get angry. He hated being forced to back up, to give up some ground in the name of peace keeping. He’d rather not draw his Master’s ire if he attacked one of his most obsessive and faithful.

“You don’t need to say his name for me to know.” Bellatrix giggled, a girlish sound bubbling up. Harry shivered in disgust. “He tends to Occlude the strongest when he has something to hide. And he is very careful to not look at you. Our dear Severus Snape. His mind is as buttoned up as his robes, tight and unforgiving. Everytime he sees you, his walls,” Bellatrix threw her hand up, illustrating such a wall, “go up. So, wouldn’t it be interesting, if your pretty eyes will stare every… person… down, except… Severus.”

It was difficult, not to react to her accusations. He couldn’t let her know just how important Sev was to him. Never mind that he was precious to Severus. He had to remain stoic. Calm. He counted his breaths instead of reacting to her words. But knowing that she had sniffed out their – whatever it is – rightly scared him. He was saved from either a seething denial or throwing curses by the Mistress of the house.

“My Lord?” Narcissa Malfoy called out to Harry. Bellatrix grinned victoriously and backed down. She sashayed past her sister and down the grand staircase. “The Dark Lord is asking for your presence.”

“Should we walk together, Cissy?” Harry held out his arm, trying to review etiquette in favor of letting his rage distract him. It wouldn’t do to have his Master antagonize him into making a mistake.

“Thank you,” her hand, strong and lengthy, held onto his arm as they walked. She was stunning, as usual today, yet her soft eyes remained on Harry’s face. “Is everything alright, My Lord?” when Harry didn’t answer, she blessedly moved on. “I’m sorry to report to _you_ , that my son has changed sides.”

All thoughts of rage and petty revenge to Bellatrix halted. Screeched to a stop. Why was she telling him this? His Master would hear about it. Does she not care about Draco? Harry closed his eyes, trying to imagine what the other boy looks like now.

“He and Blaise Zabini denounced any ties to their families and have joined the Light.” Cissy’s voice was level, but quiet. A conversation for the two of them. Harry’s mind reeled. “Regardless of his loyalties, I’m afraid that my maternal instincts and emotions are still tied to my son.”

They stopped in front of the formal dining hall door, where they usually meet. Her eyes looked down on Harry’s. Though not so much shorter than Narcissa, Harry was still considered small. Petite. Boyish. But the way this beautiful woman looked at Harry, you’d think he was twenty feet tall and all powerful. She looked into his eyes and begged as mortals do at an altar. _Save my son_. They would say. _Let him have a swift ending_. The resigned would plead. And her eyes said a lot.

“I’m, sorry.” Harry stalled. He wasn’t sure what she was asking. If she were asking anything. “If we were still friends, I could be able to tell you, you needn’t worry.”

He couldn’t make that promise. And she knew it. It was pity he spewed. Stumbling out of his mouth like tumbling rocks from a cliff. One stray word could crush like any boulder.

“If he were your brother,” Narcissa pressed into him, gentle, searching, arms wanting to hold and caress. He missed those rare times when she would save him from her husband’s angry fits during his training. Those soft hands wiping away blood and sweat. “Would you show him mercy?”

Harry definitely couldn’t make that promise. And he wouldn’t be so careless to offer such patronizing condolences. They held each other’s’ gazes for a bit longer. She was so strong and fearless that Harry hadn’t been able to keep himself from modeling after her. Chin high against the gale force winds of hate, a gentle voice to sooth the hackles of beasts, but a strong hand when reminding others, they were not shakable.

Whatever she saw in his eyes made her relax. Harry wasn’t even sure what he’d silently given up. Was she meant to test his loyalties with the love and words as a mother? They knew he craved such attention. Used it against him when he was younger and far more afraid. The bolstering words of a father would often cut when he failed. The withdraw of a mother’s kind arms to make him crack and crumble.

They walked into the dining hall together. A congregation of followers seated or pacing anxiously. Harry had arrived before his Master. It had never happened before. Yet still, when he entered all bowed to him, muttering _My Lord_ to him. It was then he realized, that should he strike down his Master and take up the throne, no one would argue. All would follow.

The revelation was heady. He could drink this power until he were swimming in it. A flick of his hand would send his followers scurrying to meet his need. A word or two and he could make an empire through their sweat and labor.

“Ah, my Pet.” Voldemort was right behind him. Entering after Harry and uncaring of the heaviness of his steps. But the touch on his shoulder was still just as jarring as being surprised by his presence. “I have a job for you, and you must leave now.”

Harry bowed his head, “I am ever at your use, Master.”

“Longbottom has left Hogwarts,” Voldemort spoke, breathy and excited. “I need you to go to the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries to get something from him. A prophecy. Lucius will direct you to it’s location. Bring the prophecy to me. And I can settle for not having Longbottom here at my feet.” Voldemort’s cold, wet fingers stroked the side of Harry’s cheeks. A parody of a lovers’ caress. “Bring who you’d like. But Lucius is pivotal. Bring any traitor you see.”

 _Ah, that’s it. Narcissa wanted my help._ Harry smiled. For his master’s benefit as the man circled in front of him. “I will bring any who dare to abandon your grace. Lay them at your feet as a bloody offering.”

“I don’t need any of your sass, Pet.” Voldemort smiled anyways. It was horrible. “Go, now.”

“Bella, Rudolphus, Carrows, Yaxley, Greyback.” Harry called out his men. His favorite. “Lucius will bring us in, Yaxley will cover our backs against any –“ “ _Harry?”_ Words tumbled to a stop. Years of meditation and training kicking in immediately to hide his reaction. “who would attack us while occupied.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, Harry drew his wand and summoned his mask. It would be easier to hide the emotions on his face with it on. He knew he was terribly expressive. And the pinning look on Voldemort’s face was a reminder of that.

Not saying another word, Harry left for the door, out into the twilight and beyond the borders of Malfoy Manor. Harry held out his hand for Lucius to side-along him. The rest of the merry group apparated before them. Harry looked up to Lucius, his mask hiding him.

“My Lord.” Lucius muttered. Unable to say the words his wife had.

“Cissy will be expecting us back, Luc.” Harry spoke smoothly, hoping that Harry’s kidnapper and torturer understood what Harry was saying. _Cissy had already asked. No need to beg._

“Of course,” Lucius bolstered himself back up, “Harry.”

Severus was sweating, panicking when he couldn’t find two of his snakes. The coin in his pocket still warm and vibrating. Three words asking for help. Three words to call upon Dumbledore’s Army. And now he couldn’t find Blaise or Draco. He hoped he could find Neville before it’s too late.

 _“Harry?”_ Severus’ mind tried calling out. It was useless, he knew. But he had to try something. Though there was no answer back, he could feel a pulsing presence in his mind. What surprised him was that it had never left. Just turned in on itself. Sitting cold and alone for four years. And now, it was waking. Stretching and rolling in his mind like a bear from hibernation. And won’t it be ravenous when it does.

“Professor!” A second-year Gryffindor came stomping down the hall, a gold coin in his hand. “Professor, I’m not supposed to tell you, but Neville, he-“

“Where is he, Mister Creevey?” Severus pulled out his own coin and held it out for Colin to inspect. The wild eyed boy looked at it then up at him. He seemed relieved.

“They went to the Ministry. Something about a prophecy. Neville said his parents want him there, to explain something. But he’s not alone.”

“Who went with him? Tell me, boy.” Severus didn’t care that they were in the middle of the hall, the occasional ghost filtering through the halls.

“Blaise, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Draco, and Fred and George were supposed to meet them there.” Colin stuttered out. He seemed to want to collapse into the ground. Burden released. “No one else answered.”

 _Shit!_ Severus berated himself, how was he supposed to keep Neville safe if he didn’t listen to Severus?

He thanked Colin and ran back to his rooms. He had to let the Order know! He had to get the message to Dumbledore somehow. And even if it had to start with that _dog_ , he would do it. To save Neville.

With a pop, Lucius was able to get Harry in the apparition point in the main atrium of the Ministry. Being as Harry had never been inside, he couldn’t help himself to look around. It was always interesting to him to see the physical manifestations of magical minds. Odd windows looking out to the atrium, glass ceiling reflecting the sky, or perhaps something like overhead lights. It was dark, however, with floating lights and an office or two lit up. Yaxley went directly to a set of golden, gated doors, and took the lift. Hopefully to stun the late-night workers.

“This way, My Lord.” Lucius turned and walked off down a long hall. Twists and turns that Harry couldn’t keep up with made him think they were lost. But Lucius never faltered. Never hesitated as he guided their group deeper into the bowels of the Ministry.

Harry’s blood was pumping. He would finally get to see Neville again. It was nearly a year, now, and he hoped the boy learned some new fighting techniques. Particularly defense. Neville will need it for tonight. Racing thoughts crowded Harry’s brain, his mind running a thousand kilometers an hour. Maybe this many Death Eaters were too much? What if Neville was alone?

No. Neville wouldn’t be alone. Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat when he realized Ron just might be there. That pale, freckled, lanky red-head would never let Neville go far without him. And if Ron were there then Draco and Hermione would be. Draco because he couldn’t stand for Ron to do something that Draco couldn’t. And Hermione because she would love to tell them _I told you so._ And if Draco were there, then Blaise would be like a guardian.

There was a strong chance that All of Harry’s former friends would be there. And suddenly, he wished he’d brought more Death Eaters.

 _Wait_. Harry paused his thoughts. _What?_ Harry couldn’t believe he was thinking this way. Shouldn’t he want to protect his friends? Were they even his friends? It had been so long, and Neville was sure to let them know just whose side Harry was trained to be on.

“They’re already here.” Lucius whispered. They all drew their cloaks up. Except Bellatrix, who also left her mask off. There was a door that glowed slightly in the dark. Large and ornate looking, Harry wondered how Lucius knew.

The door swung open, revealing shelves and shelves of glowing white orbs. They were all different sizes, crowded onto the shelves. How were they going to find Neville in all this?

“Number ninety-seven.” Rudolphus whispered. Harry frowned. He was more out of the loop than he thought. Or maybe this is what happens when he checks out of the meetings. Important things are discussed.

They made their way quietly down the aisles, splitting up to hopefully find Neville and his likely entourage. Harry and Bellatrix took one aisle, as Rudolphus and the twins flanked them. Lucius took a different direction entirely, hoping to cage Neville in.

It was bright enough from the orbs that Harry didn’t have to use his wand to illuminate their path. Though, thankfully, it was dark enough to hide them.

Ron held his wand up high, trying to look down the aisles to find Neville’s parents. The message had been pretty vague, coming on the same parchment as the rest of Neville’s mysterious notes. Though why the two Auror’s hadn’t sealed the messages under blood.

“96, 97… “ Neville had been counting out the rows. When they realized they were numbered, Neville had taken off, looking for ninety-seven. Ron was hard pressed to keep close enough. The rest of their group following close behind. He’d yet to see Fred and George show up. Though it might be lucky that they hung back. Ron would hate for any of his family to be hurt. It was bad enough Ginny were here. “They’re not here.” Neville sounded lost. “They were supposed to be right here.”

Draco let go of Ron’s hand long enough to look around. Hermione and Luna carefully scanning to their sides. Ron couldn’t help but to look at Blaise. The other boy would be able to read Ron’s thoughts. To know what he was thinking.

“I don’t think we should be here.” Ron whispered. _It might be a trap_. The thought came too late. Because they were here, and there were foot steps directly in front of them.

Ron tried casting his _Lumos_ brighter. But the light didn’t reach anything. Nothing was showing up. No one drawing out of the darkness. Fear begun ratcheting up in Ron’s stomach. The tight, shaking clench made him reach out for Draco. To draw the boy nearer to him.

Neville had looked around and up. His eyes drawing on something. One orb in particular. “It has our names on it.”

Confused looking, Neville reached up and drew down the pulsing orb. It dimmed as soon as it touched Neville’s skin. Ron tried looking closer at the drooping tag on the stand the glass ball was on. But he couldn’t see in this dimness.

“Neville?” A quiet voice echoed in the seemingly endless room. Neville had frozen. Ron and the others couldn’t pinpoint the sound. Where it was coming from. The older ones in the group, The Five, shuttered. “Neville. It’s you.” Ron whimpered. He knew that voice. Knew who it belonged to.

Before them, in the darkness, were jumping streaks of light. Angling sharply, blinking in the spell of _Lumos._ Ron was barely able to make out that a half mask covered the face of a Death Eater. Silver, gleaming incredibly in the barest light, dipping fangs pierced twin bleeding holes on their face. A watery smile illuminating the hopeful green eyes behind the mask.

“Harry?” Neville asked hesitantly. He clutched the orb tighter to his chest. Draco gave a small cry and gripped Ron’s hand tightly. “What are you doing here?”

A wave of a wand, handsome and thick, made the mask disappear. Wide eyes took them all in, jumping from face to face. And when they landed on Ron and Draco’s hands, something protective rose up in Ron’s body. This was wrong. Something was wrong.

“Please,” Harry begged, a shaking hand lifting up, reaching out. Tears of blood weeping from the twin piercings form the masks’ fangs. “He’ll hurt me.” Ron tried not to frown. Tried not to give away his calculating thoughts. But Harry was focused on Neville, not shifting from his face. “He’ll hurt me if I don’t bring it back. It’s all he wants.”

Harry’s voice wavered, glassy eyes filling with unshed tears. Breathing was difficult for Ron. How could he not feel protective when Harry was in front of them. After all these years. Crying and asking for help. No. Asking for the orb.

“Do you know what it is?” Neville asked, voice shuttering and strengthening. Something definitely wasn’t right. Ron lowered his eyes, hoping to keep the focus off of him.

Harry had never asked for help. Never cried in front of them. Even when he was in the throes of nightmares, Blaise and Draco said he never even cried out. He would smile. Brush it all off. And lift his head to keep walking ever forward.

Laughter would come before the tears. A joke would come before an ask for assistance. Harry was proud. Caring. And he was incredibly manipulative.

“I don’t.” Harry said. Or, the caricature of Harry said it. “But he needs it. He’s going to hurt me more if he doesn’t have it.” Harry added a few broken sobs. _Wrong! It’s all wrong._ “Please, Neville, don’t let him hurt me.”

Silence. Ron lifted his eyes to see Neville slightly turned towards him, eyes asking. _Is he telling the truth? Is he in trouble? Is he being honest?_ Ron looked beyond Neville and into Harry’s glassy eyes. He couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t draw out how he knew, but he understood, in that moment what was going on.

“Don’t do it.” Ron’s voice was hard. Resolute.

A cackle rose up, another person poured out of the darkness behind Harry. Green eyes dried and hardened, his face rested into a blank and bored look. What surprised Ron was that the trail of bloody tears begun to disappear, holes from the fangs closing up. What kind of magic was that? It wasn’t a glamour.

“He doesn’t want to play.” A witch appeared, wild, kinky hair and dark eyes. Ron knew who she was because of her wanted posters. Bellatrix LaStrange. A convicted Death Eater. “Itty, bitty, Longbottom. Where’s mum and dad?”

Neville gripped his wand tighter in his hands, knuckles turning white.

“Let’s not get too hasty, Bella.” Harry commanded, holding her back with his words. She bowed slightly to him, but her smile was still sharp. A predator knowing their prey was hobbled. “Neville,” Harry spoke differently, a lilt to his voice sounding like Draco’s highborn influence. Draco stiffened next to Ron. “You don’t need that thing. Just give it to me. And I won’t let Bella have her way with your friends.”

The air grew cold around them. Ron looked to his side, two Death Eaters edging the circle of light around the young group appeared. Blaise turned and faced another. Ron was betting there was someone behind them as well, effectively cutting off any chance of retreat.

What these Death Eaters, including Harry, didn’t know was how strong and fast they were. Though untested to Death Eaters, Severus had said their attacking styles could be deadly given the right application. And with Ginny protecting them in the rear, Ron was not worried about being surrounded.

“Are you Harry? Or Voldemort?” Neville asked, teeth bared. Ron let Neville focus on Harry and Bellatrix, Draco had his back. Hermione stepped up next to Ron, and Luna would be keeping her dreamy attention on Blaise.

“You DARE SPEAK HIS NAME!” Bellatrix shouted. Enraged and affronted that Neville would say the dark wizards’ name. The two in front of Ron twitched, the one in the back turned their masked face towards Harry and Bellatrix.

“It doesn’t matter, does it, Neville?” Harry stepped lightly, but ever so forward. Ron kept sight of him out the corner of his eye. Harry looked so relaxed, so at home in those black robes and amongst one of the deadliest Death Eaters. “Either way, my Master will be getting that prophecy.”

 _Prophecy?_ Ron’s eyes twitched. They didn’t know these were prophecies. They’d come here to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. Nothing else. Their message had seemed important enough to sneak out of Hogwarts without even telling Severus. What did Harry want with a prophecy?

It began clicking into place. The prophecy that Neville heard from Trelawney about Voldemort’s eventual rise was kept quiet, nearly under lock and key. Hermione had backed Severus up about how important and deadly prophecies can be. Even if they seemed harmless. In the hands of the wrong person could a prophecy become a call for war.

Voldemort needed the prophecy, whichever this one was, to get an edge over Neville and Dumbledore. The Order would need it to strategize and throw up protections and diversions wherever possible. Neville would need it to know his place in the war. Ron looked up to the tag again, hoping to make out the names on it. His wand tip brightened, eyes straining.

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord and_

_~~(?) Harry Potter~~ _

_(?) Neville Longbottom_

A strikethrough in Harry’s name. Whoever kept these records thought Harry had died. But why would Neville be included later? Or was he? Was it about the three of them?

_Sybil P. Trelawney to Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore. Professor Trelawney spoke a prophecy to Dumbledore, about Voldemort and possibly Harry or Neville. And if Voldemort was after it, then he didn’t know what it said. Because if Dumbledore knows, then the scales were tipped in the Lights’ favor. But as soon as Harry delivers it to the Dark Lord, the upper hand is taken away._

“Neville, please.” Harry’s voice was flat. “I don’t want to hurt you. Pureblood spilled is wasted talent in my Masters’ eyes.” _His master’s, not in Harry’s eyes. Harry would never hurt us. Had always gone out of his way to either remain neutral in arguments or to defend to breaking points._ “I only need you to listen to me.” _Listen?_ “Don’t be a coward. Don’t make the same mistake you did in first year in that tower.”

_Neville was crying in the Gryffindor tower. Ron felt miserable about letting Neville hear how the other Gryffindor’s saw the other boy. Weak willed. Cowardly._

_“Don’t worry about those pillocks, Neville.” Ron wrapped an arm around the sobbing boy. “You’re none of those things.”_

_“But I am.” Neville hiccuped. “I’ll never be brave. I’ll never be able to stand up for myself. I’m just a fat load of useless Gryffindor.”_

_Neville broke down into hysterics. Saying he was going to withdraw from school and beg his parents to let him homeschool at his grandmothers’ house. Ron and Seamus tried talking Neville down. The Irishman threatening to beat the ever-living shite out of whoever had said all that to Neville._

_Soon enough, Ron heard screaming and shouting. Accusations and breaking objects being thrown about the common room. Ron was curious to what was going on down there. But he would never leave Neville when he needed it._

_“Neville?” Harry’s voice appeared behind the door. Seamus opened it up to see three bruised and bloodied Slytherins standing proud. “You okay?”_

_“What happened to you lot?” Seamus laughed; Harry glared at him quickly before entering the room._

_“What are you doing here?” Neville asked, curling in on himself. He was still nervous around the three Slytherins. Though he could tolerate Harry well enough if Ron and Hermione were there._

_“Bring them in.” Harry turned to Blaise and Draco. Ron couldn’t help his curiosity._ What was going on? _Two upper class Gryffindors were brought in, looking worse than the three Slytherins. “Now, apologize.”_

_The two began tripping over themselves in apologies. They tried saying they took back everything they said about Neville. And when they were done Harry told them to go, they scrambled out the dorm room without even a backwards glance._

_“You did this?” Neville asked, bewildered at Harry’s actions. He unfolded himself from the bed, staring up at Harry’s wide smile. “I thought you didn’t like me. I figured you’d agree with them. I’m nothing.”_

_“Neville.” Harry sounded put out, but his smile never faltered. “You’re my friend. Whether you want to be or not. That makes you something. And if you say those things about yourself again, I’ll be forced to bring those guys back in to remind you that they were lying. You are brave. You go to Snape’s class even though you’re still afraid of him. I’ll talk to him to go easier on you.”_

_“No, Harry,” Neville interrupted. “Don’t do that. Everyone else will find out and tease me some more.”_

_“Not if we’re there, Nev.” Harry sat on the other side of Neville, shoulders brushing. “If I can help it, I’ll never let you get hurt again. You’re my friend. Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re a coward. You’re so much more than that.”_

“A coward?” Neville grit his teeth, Ron tried not shifting to give himself away. “I won’t forget what happened.”

“NOW!” Ron shouted and it was all of a sudden blasts of light, spells streaking through the air, people screaming in pain. Ron only hoped that those hurt weren’t any of them.

Harry had blocked Neville’s spell, it angled away from Harry and trickled to Bellatrix. She was there one second and gone the next before the spell could even hit her. The witch began laughing maniacally, voice echoing from above while she blasted spell after spell upon them. Draco put up a barrier between her and them. The two in front of Hermione and Ron soon became one. A blasting stun knocked the taller one down.

Ron’s mind raced, thinking of what they should do next. He kept up with firing spells at the remaining Death Eater in front of them. That person was quick and aggressive with their blocks and casts. A red spell got past Hermione and struck her in the stomach, knocking her down. Ron cast another stunner but it never made it. Orbs shattered around them, raining down on them and absorbing his spell.

“Run!” Ginny’s voice shouted above the noise and casts.

Just before turning to run, Harry showed up and threw a spell at Hermione, who was still struggling to get up. She screamed, limbs twitching as she writhed on the ground. Ron had to stop and cast at Harry. But the other boy was knocking away Ron’s spells with a wave of his free hand, eyes focused on Hermione.

Behind her, Bellatrix appeared, a knife drawn and angled towards Hermione. Everything was in slow motion as the knife came down, and two spells landed directly on her chest. One from Ron, and one that bounced off of Hermione and struck the witch.

“Ron,” Hermione sobbed in pain. “run!”

Orbs kept falling as Ron lifted her up by her hand, her legs shaky and stumbling. A green spell slide across Hermione’s back and knocked into the shelf above them. Bellatrix was screaming in anger.

They kept up the spells, following Neville further down the aisles. Luna and Blaise covering their left, Draco backing Neville up with Hermione and Ron splitting their attention to the right and behind them.

Ron could see Harry’s green eyes flashing in the dark, but no spells came their way. But Ron couldn’t be sure that Harry was on their side. Or even trying to come home.

Neville had opened up a door, hopefully _the_ door back to the hall and out. They filed through after Neville. Ron made Hermione go before him, she screamed just as Harry got right in Ron’s face, blocking Ron’s way. This close, it was impossible to miss. Ron shouted a stunning spell. The red flash illuminated Harry’s face, making it obvious that it struck it’s mark. Harry’s face crumpled. Green eyes jumped to beyond Ron’s shoulder. Whatever Harry saw, Ron couldn’t hesitate to get past the other boy. He wasn’t going to be caught and brought to Voldemort as a blood traitor.

A step beyond the door and Ron was falling.

Harry stood quickly and looked through the door and down. He cast a quick spell as he saw Neville coming closer to the ground. Though, Harry hoped that he was seeing that well. It was a buffering spell, one to break a great fall if you fell off your broom.

“My Lord.” Alecto was huffing. “Do we follow?”

Harry winced, Ron’s stunning spell had taken the breath from him. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was bruising or worse. Harry turned his head to see who was still standing. Rowle was nowhere to be seen. But Yaxley was coming up to them, pulling up the rear behind Lucius.

“Where is Greyback?” Harry hissed.

“Underneath the rubble, My Lord.” Bellatrix giggled. She must have seen him fall. There were still shelves falling. Globes of prophecies releasing a sort of smoke as if the ghosts of prophet’s were escaping. It was haunting and beautiful.

“Separate them from Neville. Do not harm any of them. Even the traitors.” Harry looked further down to the bottom of the room. There was some sort of structure erected in the middle. Strong shadows exposing hiding places. “We need that prophecy. Let me handle him.”

“You were handling him really well back there.” Amycus huffed underneath his breath. Harry heard him just as clearly as if he spoke in his ear.

A blast of electricity knocked Amycus high into the air, Harry didn’t care what happened to the mouth trap.

“Let’s go.”

Wrapping himself in dark magic, Harry allowed it to carry him down to the wayward group. His followers directly behind him. One by one, each of Neville’s friends were taken from his side. Harry was sure to pay attention to which of his followers took which student.

Bella had Draco and was sure to slit his throat before Ron could even twitch. Harry hadn’t been blind to how they were all but clutching to one another. Ron was taken by Rudolphus, Yaxley to Hermione, Lucius to Blaise, Greyback to Ron, Alecto to the smaller blond-haired girl, and Amycus held a young red-headed girl who looked strikingly like Ron. Harry had brought just enough to restrain every one of Neville’s friends.

Harry landed a couple of feet away from Neville, who had been spinning on the spot, looking at every one of his friends who had been captured. His heart was breaking, realizing just how useless he was in this moment. It was enough to make Harry stop and really look at Neville.

He was taller than last year. Lost his baby fat so that his face were all angles, and he stood with conviction. Harry couldn’t help but be proud of Neville.

“You know,” Harry stood still, watching Neville try to think his way out of this, the prophecy clutched tightly in his hands. “it didn’t have to be this way, Neville. I asked for you to give up the prophecy and none of them had to be hurt.”

“You can’t pin this on me.” Neville bit out. His eyes were wide and jumpy.

“Just give me the prophecy.” Harry held out his hand again, hoping that Neville understood what was going on.

The globe was dim, barely pulsing in Neville’s hand. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of it. If Neville played this right, he and his friends would be able to leave tonight.

“Harry!” Hermione yelled. She was instantly silenced by Yaxley. Harry twitched. So many memories being brought up again. Like pinpoints of light against the crushing darkness of the last few years.

“I can tell them to leave them alone. Let your friends go.” Harry tilted his head, measuring Neville up. The boy was about to break. The Neville he knew wouldn’t let anything happen to his friends. “Or, I can order my followers to kill them. One by one. And I’d be taking you and the prophecy with me.”

Neville was shaking. The internal war obvious on his face. A little more, another push, and Neville would give in. He was already lifting his hand, the dim orb quiet.

“That’s it, Neville.” Harry cooed. “You’re doing so well.” Harry was almost touching the glass, Neville’s heat reaching out to Harry. He shivered before being able to wrap his fingers around it, the other boy did not let go. A voice pressed into Harry’s mind, not entirely unlike how Severus had once resided there. Harry had to pause and listen.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._ "

It was Harry’s turn to shake, Neville had been watching Harry while the prophecy echoed into Harry’s mind. Green eyes locked with Neville’s earthy brown. Neville searched Harry’s face for something. Some indication that Harry wouldn’t hurt Neville or his friends. _“Harry, where are you?”_ Severus’ voice whispered. A secret in the night. Kept from undeserving ears.

“It’s not your prophecy.” Harry muttered lowly. Neville’s brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn’t heard the haunting words of a strange woman.

Harry was so distracted with trying to piece together the meaning of all of this, that he didn’t realize when a witch with short hair and mousey features cloaked in crimson appeared.

“Get away from my son.”

A crippling blast knocked Harry away, the orb slipping from his fingertips. Harry heard a shattering of glass before he was wrapped in cold iron chains. Sharp rocks scraped his face as he rolled down what seemed an embankment. Spells were being thrown above him. His Death Eaters fighting back against someone. Reinforcements. Likely Aurors.

Bella could be heard laughing her happy ass off, being chased by an Auror in red. Harry tried sitting up, the chains tightening and keeping his breath shallow. He grunted and growled at the chains, upset that he allowed himself to be distracted.

Hermione and the white-haired girl landed with shouts of pain a couple of feet to Harry’s right. They fell out of range of a wicked red spell.

“Hello, Hermione.” Harry said conversationally. “Glad you could drop in. Care for some company?”

“Harry.” Hermione grabbed the younger girl and pulled her back. “A-are you okay?”

Harry chuckled dryly. Odd time for Hermione to be asking, given that he was trying to hurt them. “Oh, never better.”

Laying back against the steel wall, Harry took in the two girls. Trying to see if Hermione had been listening well. Maybe she had. She was brilliant when he knew her. There wouldn’t be much chance of her losing that part of her.

She seemed to be looking Harry over, observing the differences from when he was a kid. Her eyes kept coming back to Harry’s forehead.

“What happened?”

“Wild magic. Couldn’t keep it in during training.” Harry smirked. She blanched when she saw something in his eyes. Good. She should stay back. Far away from Harry. Where she was safe from him.

A scream tore through the room. A bellow as if an animal had been gutted. It sent shivers down Harry’s spine. It sounded like Neville.

Gasping, Harry concentrated on the chains around him. Heat enveloped him and the chains turned bright red, melting against his body. Hermione and the girl scrambled away from the molten iron.

Harry scrambled up the rocks, scuttling up the side like a very determined beetle. When he was able to see across the way, what greeted Harry was pure chaos. Dark and Light battled in the air and on the ground. None giving way. None of the students, thankfully, were up above fighting. All except Neville. He was being held back by a man who looked exactly like him. Dressed in the crimson of the Auror robes.

On the ground was the short-haired mousey woman. Bellatrix was laughing and shrieking in delight at the look on Neville’s face. She practically skipped away. Greyback had found himself free of a fight and attacked the man at Neville’s back from behind. The man went down but had cast several spells in rapid succession. Harry couldn’t see any blood yet, which meant Neville hadn’t seen any either and tore off after Bella.

Gritting his teeth, Harry ran across the ground, nearly rolling his ankle at the uneven terrain. They were still inside but Harry felt as if he were standing on that blasted rocky island Vernon Dursley had drug them all to.

Dodging curses and spells aimed at him or wild casting, Harry followed Neville and Bella. There was no telling what she would do if Neville was alone with her. Probably eat him. Most likely drag him back to the Dark Lord.

Through a door and down a short hall, Harry ended up back at the atrium. Strange, considering the way to the Department of Mysteries lead them down, and then the fall to that room he’d only just left shouldn’t bring him level with the front door.

Running, robes billowing behind him, Harry tried catching up to Bellatrix. Her off-key singing of how she killed Neville’s mother bouncing off the walls.

 _“Harry,”_ Severus’ voice called out to Harry. Or a memory, perhaps. _“where are you, my boy?”_

Tripping to a stop, Harry watched as Neville cast the Torture Curse at Bellatrix. She yelped in surprise and collapsed. Neville was drawing air rapidly. Groaning, still, in pain of losing his mother. Harry’s heart threatening to break in empathy.

On the floor, Bellatrix whimpered as if in pain. She rolled onto her back and tried to look pitiful. It was enough for Neville to stop. Stepping ever so lightly, Harry crept up behind Neville. Wand still drawn.

“You have to mean it, Neville.” Harry offered in advice. Bellatrix kept her act up, whimpering and shaking in front of them. Only that Harry knew Bella’s play acting. A wounded bird could still scratch your eyes out. “If you don’t mean it, the curse won’t work well.”

One breath, two, Neville turned around, wand up and words tumbling out his mouth before Harry used his wild magic to disarm the other boy. It was automatic. A threat to Harry was one that was put down quickly.

“Why the hell are you doing this, Harry?” Neville didn’t back down. He stood taller than Harry by nearly a whole head and an arm’s reach away. Harry really was shorter than most. “What happened to you?”

Before Harry could reply. Before he could say anything to console Neville, a cold presence curled up Harry’s spine. Fingers carding through his tangled mess of hair possessively. Disgust rolled through Neville. Harry could tell because the feeling was mutual.

“I happened, Longbottom.” Voldemort purred. “How do you like my pet, Neville?” Voldemort grinned, Harry could feel the breath against his neck. Wand shaking in Harry’s grip.

“It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom.” A voice that Harry would never forget spoke boldly and rang throughout the atrium. Bellatrix gasped and crawled to one of the large Floo openings. Green flame stuttering like a fire gasping for air.

“Dumbledore.” Harry growled. Blue eyes looking alive and focused like Harry had never seen before. It didn’t matter. “Let me have him, Master.”

Albus hadn’t stopped walking, he drew his wand instead, pointed down and away. Bellatrix left in a roaring of light and green flame. Coward.

“Kill him, Pet.” Voldemort chuckled.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He drew up his magic, calling the wild mess of it and focusing. A green bolt of light sizzled out of the tip of Harry’s wand arcing like lightning. Anger swelling the spell up to something Harry almost thought he couldn’t contain. So why should he restrain it?

Raising his wand, Harry thought of the perfect spell to end Dumbledore’s life. A spell that had caused nightmares in the dark. It came with the memory of a little girl with a yellow barrette. It was all Dumbledore’s fault. His abuse, the kidnapping, losing Severus, it was all that old man’s fault.

Green fire roared again, but Harry wouldn’t let himself be distracted.

“ _Avada-“_ Harry blinked, then, standing in front of Dumbledore was a wash of black. Mirror bright black shoes, tapered trousers leading up to narrow hips barely covered by a Wizarding suit jacket with a multitude of buttons, a flowing black robe like bat’s wings settling gracefully around him. Harry’s breath was stolen. “Severus.”


	8. Drawing Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con, forced marriage, blackmail (into marriage), dub-con turning into consensual.

_Raising his wand, Harry thought of the perfect spell to end Dumbledore’s life. A spell that had caused nightmares in the dark. It came with the memory of a little girl with a yellow barrette. It was all Dumbledore’s fault. His abuse, the kidnapping, losing Severus, it was all that old man’s fault._

_Green fire roared again, but Harry wouldn’t let himself be distracted._

_“Avada-“ Harry blinked, then, standing in front of Dumbledore was a wash of black. Mirror bright black shoes, tapered trousers leading up to narrow hips barely covered by a Wizarding suit jacket with a multitude of buttons, a flowing black robe like bat’s wings settling gracefully around him. Harry’s breath was stolen. “Severus.”_

“Harry.” Severus’ voice matched his face. Worried, searching, lost.

“Traitor!” Voldemort snarled. “He’s mine!”

Harry’s eyes tore from Severus and caught Albus’ blue eyes. Severus knew what Harry was thinking. Because he was thinking the same thing. How could Albus use Severus against the boy? His boy.

 _“Harry, stop.”_ Severus’ voice pressed into Harry’s mind. Green eyes snapped back to Severus, searching for confirmation. _“Come back to me, my boy.”_ Harry gasped, his knees weakening as Severus lifted his hand, beckoning. There was hope there. Hope that Harry would listen to him. “Please.”

The spoken word broke something in Harry. His face crumpled into a myriad of emotions. His body shook, his boy was conflicted. Severus would give anything to run to Harry and wrap him up, steal him away from that monster stalking closer behind him.

“I said, _kill them!”_ Voldemort shouted, his wand raised to Harry’s back and let loose a cruel Cruciatus. Harry didn’t even make a sound, didn’t even drop. His body locked up and Harry threw his head back in a silent scream. Severus’ heart seized at the sight of Harry being tortured in front of him.

Before Severus could step towards his boy, Albus gripped his arm and spoke through gritted teeth to wait.

“It’s up to him now. Do not speak to him.” Albus was out of his mind if he thought Severus was going to stand by and watch Harry be tortured. Even Neville was raising his wand to do something.

Hair at the back of Severus’ neck raised up. There was a certain energy in the air, one that usually is paired with the smell of ozone. The space between Harry and Severus felt as if the pressure was building, pushing Severus back. He searched for Harry’s eyes, trying to connect again.

Neville yelled for Harry, and the pressure released into more green electricity. It arced and searched for its victim. Albus pulled Severus back, as if he were a shield against the coming onslaught. Inhaling sharply, Severus took a step back, in awe of the raw power surging from Harry. And it wasn’t from his wand or the tips of his fingers. The boy was like a living Tesla coil. Bolts of energy reaching out.

In one breath, the lightning exploded, pressing forward towards Albus and himself. Severus couldn’t even contain his pride with the obvious direction and control. Because the raw magic wasn’t coming for him. It was jumping around and falling onto Albus. The old man put up a shield around the two of them regardless. The strain on the bubble making as equally loud shrieking sound as the lightning. It was loud enough to cover his ears.

The protection shattered, like glass all around them, releasing its spell in coils of smoke. Severus tried watching Harry the entire time, assured that his boy wouldn’t harm him. Only Albus. The only man Harry felt was responsible for where he ended up. A Death Eater.

Albus muttered an incantation under his breath, the air thickening with the twin magical cores battling for dominance. Albus’ rebuttal against Harry’s lightning came in the fashion of cutting wind. Severus growled knowing that this spell could cut to bone. But not kill.

Harry deflected it easily, wings of destruction split over him, Voldemort and Neville behind him. The curse deteriorated the walls of the atrium, plaster and stone falling gracelessly. Albus didn’t hesitate to send another spell, Harrys’ meeting him somewhere in between. In this moment, Harry was beautiful, powerful and as wild as the magic he wields.

“Harry,” Severus called out, breathy and nearly inaudible to the sound of clashing power. Fire met water and only one succeeded. Harry was wrapped up in a torrent of cold water, just as the flames licked at the edges of the shielding charm. Severus screamed, watching Harry running out of air the more he struggled. Voldemort laughing behind him.

Angry, Severus turned around ready to interrupt Albus’ charm, one look to Severus with those sharp blue eyes was enough for the charm to break. He fell to the floor gasping for air, filling his lungs once again. All the while gathering more power.

Fire, dissolving flesh, boils, stinging bites, freezing water, acidic fog, there were many spells and curses that Severus knew and recognized as Harry using. Albus remained behind him, fighting in ricochets and complicated maneuvers. In which Harry was also adept, enough to challenge Albus. Severus knew Harry’s vision still wasn’t completely fixed, so his accuracy was lower than the average dueling wizard.

Albus, for his talent and power, was likely holding back. The spells weren’t strong enough, weren’t powerful enough to defeat Harry. Which only seemed to make him madder. Harry fought like he wanted the man dead. Albus might have deserved it for everything that he put Harry and Severus through. Was still putting them through.

One spell slipped under Harry’s defenses and made his feet slip out from under him. The force of a wind spell blew Harry back twenty feet or so. He skids and hits one of the Floo entrances. Severus heard Harry call out, grunting in pain. His heart nearly gave in, watching his boy be hurt by a mentor he’d once loved. 

Harry had a good look at what his master had been doing. The boy blinked, clearing his head as he looked upon Voldemort and Neville. Harry pausing for crucial seconds.

“Severus,” Albus whispered, nearly out of breath, “save Neville.”

Save Neville. Who was in the clutches of the Dark Lord. Forget the boy with whom he had a special bond with. One that was still undefined and hidden in the shadows of desire and love. A paternal instinct rose up in Severus, conflicted and battling with something Severus would never allow to take root. _“Harry, please. Come back with me, my boy. Come back home.”_

Severus begged, all the while Albus was catching his breath, likely taking in the situation. Calculating and plotting even now. It made Severus sick, thinking that Albus was more concerned with one boy than the other. But wasn’t that what Severus was doing. More worried about the blood dripping from Harry’s head than he was Neville who was already doomed.

“Finish it, Pet.” Voldemort had commanded, fist wrapped tightly in Neville’s hair, blood and grime covering his face and body. Severus’ heart nearly gave out, Neville needed saving, the boy who’d come to trust him, came to him when things got tough. But Harry needed rescuing just as much. Complicite obedience was only obtainable from Harry if there were years of torture, brain washing, forced submission, and loss of hope. He couldn’t do that to his boy again. Not again.

Green bolts of electricity rose up, thinner and wilder, and encapsulating the entire atrium. Harry’s body encapsulated by the jumping bolts of energy, a high pitch screeching like thousands of migrating birds. Or scratching glass. Voldemort had a protective shield up and around them. Harry lifted his wand and pointed it to Albus, the beginnings of the killing curse bleeding from his lips. Caressing like a jealous lover.

Laughing, Voldemort’s eyes locked with Severus’ before casting through the shield while Harry threw a curse at Albus. Severus was too stunned to react before the curse hit him. His chest contorted into fiery pain. Spreading into his veins and wracking his body, Severus fell onto the ground muscles contracting painfully.

Harry might have screamed. Or perhaps it was him. But the green bolts ceased, darkness encroached his vision. Then, it was filled with Harry.

“No, no, no, no.” Harry chanted, as if it could banish the sight before him. He ran and slid to Severus’ twitching body, cradling the man’s head. Then his body stilled, eyes rolling in the back of his head. “What did you do?” Harry shouted at his master. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“I told you to finish them.”

The body in his hands was hot, growing hotter. Harry began worrying that Severus’s quick and high fever could boil his brain. He paid no attention to the crumpled mess that was Albus, his eyes only for Severus.

All Harry had heard from Voldemort was _Estuans_ , he couldn’t even be sure that it was one of the three curses Harry was familiar with. And he had to be sure if he wanted to cure Severus. The fact that his veins were not black, indicated it wasn’t his core burning. _Lucem_ was not the one, his magic wasn’t stringing out in spider silk threads. It had to be _Estuans Corde_ , a nasty curse that started in the heart and enflamed the organs like a house under an arsons’ touch. It was difficult to reverse the damages, but he could live.

Harry could hear others pouring into the atrium, Voldemort taunting them with the capture of Neville. He couldn’t be bothered. Severus lay before him, body flushing and sweating now. Harry dug deep, trying to remember the counter-curse. Words pouring out of his mouth while static filled his brain. Like that fucking Muggle Dudley’s television box in bad weather.

Green fire began flaring up, pulsing with the arrival of Albus’ back up. Harry looked up and saw Fred and George come rushing in, stopping when they saw what was going on. A woman and man who looked like Ron, that Prefect Percy, and the twins right behind him.

“He’s back,” the pudgy minister whispered in fear and disbelief.

Harry didn’t have time.

“ _Estuans corde_.” Harry said harshly through gritted teeth and past the lump of grief in his throat. He was trusting Albus to do the right thing for once. He came closer, eyes shifting from Harry to Severus who began to moan and bleed from the mouth.

It wasn’t what Harry wanted to see, didn’t want to know that he failed in protecting Severus.

Harry let his dark magic consume him, bringing him closer to his Master and the captured Neville before Voldemort grabbed ahold of Harry and disapperated. Harry was able to see Ron, Draco, Hermione, Blaise and the two other students emerge from a hall. Fear and disbelief coloring their faces.

Stumbling and falling once they made it to the Manor, Harry instantly felt the unbelievable pain of the _Cruciatus_. He grits his teeth against it.

“How dare you disobey me.” Voldemort let the curse roll through Harry a few more seconds before a rope wrapped around his throat and was then dragged behind Voldemort into the Manor. Neville calling out his name weakly.

Breath couldn’t come to Harry, stuck in his throat and nowhere to go to replenish. Blackness began crowding his already fuzzy vision before he was thrown into the middle of the large foyer. Neville thrown on top of him.

In a bid for survival, Harry dropped his wand but couldn’t help the clutching, scratching at his neck to give himself some air. He had to let his master’s disappointed punishment run its course.

“Why have you betrayed me, Pet?” Voldemort hissed angrily, the torture curse lighting up all over Harry. “Why let the traitor survive?”

The rope disappeared. Harry coughed for air, his lungs feeling like they’d been flattened and unresponsive. He couldn’t get enough air in. His lack of answer brought another roll of red curse and antagonized nerve endings. He pushed an unresponsive Neville off him, his ribs crying out in pain.

“I asked you a question, Pet.” Voldemort growled.

“I th-thought,” Harry gasped for more air. “He would come back.” It was weak, even to Harry’s ears. Though it wasn’t for lack of attempting to convince his master.

A group of Death Eaters were circling around them. Bellatrix laughing maniacally at Harry’s pain.

“You thought.” Voldemort walked past Harry’s vision. After his adrenaline had dropped, even if his nerves were still on fire, Harry began shaking. “You thought I would welcome a traitor back into my good graces?”

“I hoped you’d give him to me.” Harry let out weakly. Several Death Eaters chuckled. Bella still cackling madly.

“What is so special about Severus, that you would want him? You have barely known him. He is not handsome, or kind, Pet.” Voldemort lifted Harry from his feet by wand, Harry suspended in the air, waiting to be dropped into a pile. “He would not treat you as well as I. Unless,”

Harry’s head was tipped to look directly into Voldemort’s eyes. There was no time to brace himself for the attack.

“ _Legillimens.”_

Memories poured through his mind like a sieve. Potions classes, crying in Severus’ arms, teasing and playing jokes on the man, the kind look in his eyes when they were alone, the Nimbus 2000, crying in front of Albus and Minerva while wanting to be taken away by Severus. All of them, every single memory of every time they were together. Even when Harry saw the man at meetings, when they were alone fixing his eyesight. It spanned only nine months, some of the holidays spent with his friends at school, the others he spent alone wandering the castle.

“I see,” Voldemort mumbled, he placed Harry down on his feet gently. Knees threatening to buckle. “You are in love with him.”

_Love? No, I’m not in love with him. He’s precious to me. Important. The only reason why I’m still here, you ass._

“I didn’t think it would be possible, a young thing like you wanting a man so much older. You think he would want you? You are far too pretty to be with him.” Voldemort stroked his cheek, a chill coming down Harry’s spine. It was more than disgust. It was fear. “But you are also so incredibly proud. I wonder what it would take to break you. You’ve killed, tortured, brought me Longbottom, and have sat obediently at my side. I would like to see how you would break, Pet.”

Harry tried not to shiver. Any reaction besides blind faith and absolute submission was not tolerated. But the tone in Voldemort’s voice wasn’t very helpful in calming Harry.

“I am yours to command, Master.”

“ _Harry,_ ” Severus’ voice echoed weakly in Harry’s mind.

“ _Sev._ ”

“I command you to bring Longbottom down to the dungeons.” Voldemort released him. “Then join me in the bedroom where I will give you your true punishment.”

Harry bowed his head. He was being tested; he knew. If he could deliver Neville down to the dungeons and return, then it was a step towards redemption in his masters’ eyes. Bellatrix was still laughing with glee, hoping that she could be able to participate in his punishment, no doubt.

Electricity bloomed from his hand nearest the woman, he let it loose towards her with the last bouts of anger and frustration. The cracking of a skull or bone was more satisfying than Harry thought it should be.

“Stand up.” Harry spoke to Neville, who was just coming back into consciousness. There were cuts on his face, likely when the glass in the atrium had shattered and fallen on them when Harry let loose a lot of his power.

Thankfully, Neville understood what was being asked of him. A look around showed just how useless it would be to fight. Harry was relieved to notice the other boy’s wand wasn’t with him. He would hate to have to fight Neville.

They were given a wide berth when passing the rest of the Death Eaters. Many of them trying to get past those blocking their view from a defeated Neville Longbottom. It sickened Harry thinking that each one of them would be vying for the opportunity to torture him. Just as they had with ‘training’ Harry out of using his wild magic automatically.

Past multiple doors and hallways, Harry told Neville when to turn and which door to use. The boy followed Harry’s instructions without hesitance. Which bode well for Neville, considering how much Voldemort enjoyed a compliant subject. Even one he was torturing.

“Harry-“ Neville tried breaking the silence.

“Shut up.” Harry said without any real bite. He had to wait until they were nearer the dungeons. It wasn’t long until they made it to the lowest levels of the Manor. Harry opened the gate with his free hand, wild magic commanding wordlessly. “Get in.”

“Harry, please,” Neville turned, he was taller than Harry by half a head. But he looked like he wasn’t done growing. Harry remembered seeing Ron standing taller than the others. He might even be taller than Severus. “what happened to you?”

“Does it really matter?” Harry closed the gate, locking it with an audible command. “You’re not going to last long with my Master. He has a lot of plans for you.” Neville gave a visible shiver; his eyes held a healthy amount of fear. “Unless you play it right. Unless you give him a reason to draw it out. Let _them_ figure out a way to save you.”

“Save us, you mean.” Neville insisted. Harry scoffed at the idea that anyone would be coming for him. He wasn’t even sure if Severus had survived the curse. The amount of damage to his heart and insides may never recover well enough. And Sev was the only one Harry believed would ever come for him.

“You’re their Savior. The Boy Who Lives.” Harry recalled hearing the nicknames for Neville. The boy who survived the many random attacks. “They’ll come for you. You just have to interest him long enough. Don’t fight him. But don’t die either. It will be painful but last as long as you can. He likes to draw it out.”

“How do I know you’re not just saying this to see me hurt too?”

“Because you know me better than that.” Harry answered with conviction. He hadn’t changed much. The only differences were the scar on hs face and the use of magic so dark Harry often felt consumed by it. “Albus wouldn’t let _you_ down.”

Harry turned to leave, but Neville pressed himself against the bars, trying to get closer to him.

“He tried looking for you too.” Neville’s words sounded false to Harry. There was no way that manipulative old man would have tried looking for him. “We all did, after I saw you in the graveyard.”

Harry chuckled darkly. Only then? Only then did they try looking for him? How sentimental.

“Why?” Harry asked, though he didn’t turn around. Despite how he’d grown, Harry couldn’t help but see the shorter, chubbier boy from first year. Harry’s only year at school. Wide, fearful eyes, small and hesitant smile. “Why would any of you look for me after that? Why not before?”

“We didn’t know you were alive.” Neville’s voice quietened. “There was a fire. Your family is dead. Didn’t they tell you?”

No. They hadn’t told Harry. Didn’t even have the courtesy of letting Harry know how well the world had moved on without him.

“Stay away from the windows.” Harry replied instead. “It’s coldest there.”

It was all the more he was willing to say. Before Neville could say anything more, Harry took the steps two at a time and walked past the many Death Eaters still milling about. Some were drinking, celebrating the capture of Neville Longbottom. Others eyeing him with twisted pleasure.

The battle was almost over. With Neville in their hands, his death would bring down the Light. And his Master would be able to defeat Albus and the others in order to take control of the Wizarding world in the United Kingdom. Then, he had his sights set on France. And further on.

The doors to Voldemort, and Harry’s, bedroom was open. A fire already blazing in the hearth. To Harry’s surprise and fear, Bellatrix was standing next to her husband, Lucius, Fenrir, Thorfinn Rowle, and Yaxley were all grouped inside the room. Every single one of them ruthless and cruel in their torture for various methods. Harry was only happy the Carrows weren’t in attendance. They’ve been known to press and press until beyond the breaking point of any body.

“I’ve discovered something about you, Harry.” Voldemort said from a lounging chair, a glass of dark colored liquor in his hands.

“Yes, Master?” Harry asked, shaking on the floor, body slowly healing from his magic.

“Pride.” Voldemort grinned, Harry could imagine the man’s teeth jagged like a shark. “You have been beaten, isolated, and starved. You have killed and tortured for me. You have yet to break, my Pet.”

The main door to the hall closed soundly. Harry held back a shiver of fear when looking into his Masters’ red eyes. Even as the older wizard kept grinning, the doors from an adjoining room opened. Harry’s stomach cramped with dread. There, right there, being dragged in unwillingly was Severus Snape. But it couldn’t be him. It would have taken a few hours for Sev to heal enough to be walking the way he was.

“What is going on?” Harry asked. Whispering. This Severus Snape would not have been the first time Voldemort had feigned an appearance to test Harry. It was only now that Voldemort knew what Severus meant to Harry.

“I would like to break you, Pet.” Voldemort hadn’t gotten up from his seat. Relaxing even further into the soft cushions. Fenrir and Yaxley had dragged this Severus further into the room and forced the man on his knees in front of Harry. They were both shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cold in the room. “You have endured a lot, my Pet. And I would like to see you free of your emotional bonds that is holding you back from fully serving me.”

“You want me to torture him?” Harry’s voice began shaking. He’d never wavered in front of the Death Eaters. Not even when he’d endured so much under his initial tutelage.

“I want you to kill him. Until you get it through your head that you belong to me.” Voldemort snapped, nearly yelling in his fervor. Harry couldn’t help the wince from the volume. Bella and the others chuckled darkly. “You can kill him like the filthy half-breed you are, or you can raise your wand and kill him slowly. And I think we should start with the Burning Heart.”

Burning Heart, the same curse that Voldemort had given the original Severus. Or Harry hoped was the original Severus. It didn’t matter much either way. Harry felt as if the real man was kneeling in front of him, mouth sealed shut by some spell, eyes wide and begging. He couldn’t do it. Not even if this person was a fake. They were too similar to the real one, down to the high shine boots.

“Do it now, Pet.” Voldemort hissed angrily from his chair. All the Death Eaters were back and out of Harry’s way, not wanting to endanger themselves with Harry’s wild magic.

“I-I can’t.” Harry whispered quietly, voice shaking and without breath. His wand was warm in his hand, ready to complete any spell Harry utters. “Please, not this.”

“If you don’t do as you’re told, Pet, you will receive punishment as you’ve never had before.”

Hand shaking violently, Harry tried raising his wand, the Severus on his knees began making noise, begging for their life. All Harry could see was Severus getting knocked down from Voldemort’s curse. A flash of cerulean, dark and heavy despite how bright it was.

The wand came level to the weeping face, eyes puffy and red, blotches on his pale face. Black hair feather light and silky, thick fingered hands clasped and knuckles white. The curse came to mind, he knew what was expected of him. But Harry couldn’t do it. He couldn’t summon the magic to complete the spell.

“I can’t.” Harry let out a sob, surprising himself with how loud and painful it sounded. There were no tears. Not even for this. “I can’t.”

“Well, then.” Voldemort was standing, Harry didn’t have to see in order to know that Voldemort was coming up behind him. Harry kept staring into those black, depthless eyes that once held so much comfort for him. “I suppose this means you need to be punished.”

Yes, yes, punish Harry. Don’t kill this Severus. Even if he isn’t real. Harry could take nearly every punishment that was doled out to him. He was confident that there wasn’t anything that Voldemort couldn’t do to him what the Death Eaters tried doing.

Harry’s wand was taken from his hand. Breathing a sigh of relief through quivering lungs, Harry thought he was going to be taken and beaten, tortured, or some other horrible punishment.

But, of course, Harry should have known better. If Voldemort was insistent on Harry being punished beyond his breaking point, then he should have known better.

“I would like to see you,” Voldemort pressed Harry closer to Severus. Harry couldn’t understand what Voldemort was going to make him do. He thought that maybe he could close his eyes fast enough before Voldemort to kill Severus. To avoid seeing Severus die again. “Using your own two hands, to kill him.”

Harry sobbed, a painful sound erupting from his lips. Hands were pushed forward, not even using the Command Curse to press Harry’s cold fingers up to Severus’ throat. Larger hands gripped tightly for less than a second before retreating. A silent command to keep Harry’s hands there.

“Now, use your hands like the dirty half-blood you are.”

Choking on his cries, Harry couldn’t tighten his fingers. There was no way he could allow Severus to die. Not in any dream or reality. Harry would fight with his last breath to protect Severus.

“We will be here quite a long time, Harry, until you kill him.” Voldemort hissed. “Until you understand who you belong to.”

He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to. There was no bone in his body Harry wouldn’t give up in order to protect Severus. So, Harry tried looking for differences in this man to his Sev.

There were less wrinkles, this man was younger, in his late twenties. This Severus didn’t have the small scar above his left eyebrow, a shard of crystal stirring rod that exploded one time when he was young. His hair was clear of its natural oils, his scent of peppermint and herbs was missing, the overwhelming smell of pipe tobacco cloistered, instead, to his skin. The clothes were pretty close to what he typically wore, but the material was cheap. Like it was produced en masse.

It could be enough. It should be enough. But the black, black eyes betrayed the counter image Harry was trying to build. So he called on the last thing he could.

Hate.

Hate was more than any other emotion Harry could safely release. Anything else and Voldemort might get his way. He used his hate, his anger and resentment towards his captors, towards his master, towards any and all who tried to make Harry into what they wanted.

His hands squeezed, tightening over the pale neck, long and soft. Harry had never felt Severus’ neck, not with his hands, arms looped around, head dug in, but never just felt. When he begun squeezing, he shook and felt weak all over.

Severus’ eyes widened, he thrashed and tried fighting against Harry. They fought each other, the older man fell back, trying to get away. Harry fell on top of him then straddled him, hips bucked, trying to throw Harry. Tears crowded Harry’s vision, blurring the weakening man underneath him. When he was still, Harry kept squeezing, leaned forward and screamed long and loud.

It wasn’t long after this Severus took their last breath, Harry was lifted off the body and cradled against a strong chest. Harry distantly thought it was either Lucius or Thorfinn, as both had spoiled him with touch these past few years.

“Leave him.” Voldemort ordered. The comforting body withdrew, quickly but with lingering touch. Harry was breathing heavily, head getting light and vision darkening. “You understand, now, Pet, that you belong to me.” Harry nodded his head, though how obviously was lost to him. He was stiff and cold. “You will obey every command that I give you. With no doubt within yourself.”

A door opened, shuffling and struggling was heard eventually. Harry shook his head, knowing what he was going to have to do.

“Now,” Voldemort leaned in and held Harry awkwardly. “Kill him.”

Harry looked up and saw another Severus, wild eyed and hair a mess. Dressed less similar than the last one. A broken cry erupted from his core, body shaking, and stomach clenched painfully. But he stood dutifully and attacked this Severus.

Had he been able to, he’d known that his eyes flashed serpentine. Slits of pupils constricting, causing Voldemort to smile.

Over and over and over again. There were so many. Dead by his hands, by knives, by wand, however Voldemort ordered the deaths, Harry followed through. Obediently, and quickly. It was his only choice. It was the only thing Harry could do in order to survive.

Albus watched as Harry tore off after Tom Riddle and Neville. When the boy was close enough, Tom disapparated with the two. Minister Fudge had stumbled dumbfounded into Albus’ vision. But he couldn’t afford to lose even a second more. Harry had given him what was needed to know in order to save Severus.

The poor man had stopped moving, but his temperature flared, and his eyes showed only the whites. Albus quickly began reversing the curse. It was the quickest thing he could do, any damage the curse had already made would have been tackled by at least two other healers. But it was only himself.

“Albus, that was-“

“Yes, Minister, I saw him as well.” Kingsley agreed, trying to keep Fudge distracted while Albus tried saving what he could of his potion’s professor.

Fred and George had met the younger Weasleys and their small army, tears and demands of justice pouring from them. None of the students got too close, however, and for that Albus was grateful. This spell was taking all the concentration he had.

So it was that Albus missed most of their conversation. Likely about how they had come to the conclusion to arrive here at the ministry and go into the Department of Mysteries. Albus knew that Neville had been given hints about the prophecy. He only hoped that Neville hadn’t heard the prophecy, as he was now being housed within Tom’s stronghold. Wherever that might be.

It took little over half an hour to break the curse. Stopping the effects when he began was only the first challenge. The next was making sure his body didn’t go into shock with all the damage. And if there had been assistance in his healing, someone could have begun healing what they could of the _Burned Heart_ curse.

“Harry,” Severus moaned out, his throat rough and barely heard. Albus winced with the effort that Severus tried putting into it. “Wh’rs Harry?”

“Not here, Severus.” Albus said consolingly. “He was unharmed. Though worried for you, my boy.”

Albus refused to tell Severus that the boy had likely saved Severus by mentioning which curse had been used. It would have taken Albus too long to figure out what was happening, by then Severus would assuredly have expired. This curse was too consuming, too quick, and too wicked to ignore for long.

Kingsley had been shouting out orders to round up the few Death Eaters that had been captured. The students had to be brought back to the school before the press arrived. Thankfully, Fred and George had the wherewithal to keep the children out of sight for the time being.

When the healers arrived for Severus, Albus requested they accompany him and the students back to Hogwarts. With Severus showing his hand the way he did to Tom, his life would surely be taken as quickly as any person could manage.

“Where’s Neville?”

“Is he okay?”

“What happened?”

The questions came quickly from the students. Young Ginevra and Draco tearing up at their loss. At their defeat. Whatever their intent to be here, they certainly hadn’t succeeded. The loss of not one but two friends of theirs weighed heavy between them all. Neville is gone, captured by Tom. Harry had left with them, of his own free will. His attack against Albus was meant to kill. He couldn’t ignore that fact.

“Is Severus going to make it?” Blaise Zabini asked mildly. They were yet to leave the Ministry, waiting for the Healers to stabilize Severus enough to travel by Floo. Each student who’d become close and attached to the man looked on him, four Healers working aggressively to do what they could. Young Draco in Ronald’s arms, clearly in shock of today’s events.

“Time will tell.” Albus answered gravely. “The curse had been strong, quick to injure.”

“If not for Harry,” Luna spoke dreamily, “then you would not have known which curse to counter.”

Albus grit his teeth. The girl was so observant, so incredibly underestimated because of her mannerisms and cryptid beliefs. He couldn’t be angry with her however much she was correct. Even if Severus could no longer provide information from Tom’s meetings, he still had his uses.

“I will admit, Potter tried his best to keep Severus from being exposed to Voldemort.” Albus recalled the blast of a spell he had sent to Harry. How it opened up the line of sight from Tom to Severus. “Though, he failed in the end.”

“Failed only because you didn’t protect him either.” Blaise growled lowly, very unbecoming of the boy. “I saw the way you kept Severus there, not bothering to allow him to move. What was it, a sticking charm?”

Blaise’s bright blue eyes attempted to pin Albus with his condemnation. But Albus was far too old and had more experience over the boy.

“It was Severus’ choice to remain where he was.” Albus broke eye contact with the boy, looking down at the injured teacher. “I believe he hoped to beg for Harry’s acquiescence.”

“Severus doesn’t beg.” It was Ronald, this time. “But it was to his tactical advantage to keep Harry from trying to hurt you, Headmaster. Severus knew Harry wouldn’t hurt him.”

That seemed to quell the accusations. Albus couldn’t allow himself to be relieved of the lack of conviction by his students. It would have appeared to paint him as guilty.

It took an hour to get Severus stabilized. By then the press had arrived, taking photographs of the scene. Broken windows, destroyed masonry, scars on the marble from curses and spells. They were hidden behind the columns in the atrium, no one able to view what was going on.

Flooing to Hogwarts’ Medical Wing was quick. Severus and the Healers went first, and when Albus had arrived directly after them, he realized that traveling by floo hadn’t helped his injuries. Though, there was no helping the need to travel. Albus wouldn’t allow Severus to be left alone, even with Aurors, in St. Mungo’s.

“Oh my God.” Hermione gasped when she arrived. Poppy was busy trying to help the healers secure Severus to the bed. Spells and incantations beginning in order to help him heal as quickly as they could.

“Let’s allow them to work on Severus’ recovery without disruption.” Albus distracted and herded the student’s away from the curtained area where Severus was screaming out. It pained Albus to hear Severus calling out for Harry. For the boy to come home. “If no one is terribly injured, I will ask you all to return to your dorms. I’ve been appraised of the disappearance of your former Headmistress and will resume my post until her arrival.”

Her disappearance was likely the work of Fred and George, as he’d heard from Remus her expulsion by fireworks directly before Minerva rushed into his safe house to shout about the disappearance of the students.

It was only by mere coincidence that Albus may have known their direction. Afterall, he had known exactly the type of hints the boy Neville had been getting. As it was delivered by a rented Hawk currently still in Albus’ possession.

The next following days were some of the worst that Harry had ever had in this Manor. His Master was still angry at him for disobeying him at the Ministry. Harry suffered through more torture and punishments he’d rather not think of again. His body ached in a way that absorbed a lot of his attention. Even if he’d wanted to be in a bed sleeping the pain away, he wouldn’t have been able to rest well enough. He’d been forbidden from beds or soft surfaces, stripped bare in the night to sleep in a corner like a dog. It was humiliating and cruel.

But it had nothing on what was going to happen soon.

Harry had been led on a magical leash, like a dog, through the hallways towards his Masters’ meeting room when he saw them. A family of wizards, trooped into the room ahead of them, looking scared and frightened. A mother, father, two older boys maybe seventeen and twenty and two younger children a boy about five and a crying infant in the mothers’ bleeding arms.

“Pet,” Voldemort drew Harry’s attention. His heart beating painfully in his chest. “Wait here for me.”

Harry had no choice, the leash attached itself to the floor, securing to the marble as if they had been melded together. The woman screeched while one of the older males bellowed out, cursing and screaming at someone. But it wasn’t the direction his Master went. No. Voldemort went down into the dungeons where Neville was being kept.

“Pity, isn’t it.” Thorfinn muttered sadly. He appeared silently behind Harry, a lingering hand sliding up his back. The man was tall and solid, perhaps a wizard with giant genes a few generations ago.

“What is a pity?” Harry asked coolly. He had to maintain his stoicism. If not, then Thorfinn could sniff out his empathy towards the damned and exploit him.

“Pity there wasn’t a married pair who could save those younger two.” The hand squeezed the back of Harry’s chained neck. “They’re too innocent to be blood traitors. And, really, they are handsome looking family. Strong, sturdy, and probably lovable as well.”

Harry cut a look at Thorfinn, who’s hazel eyes were boring into Harry’s, measuring words and reactions to them.

“What do you mean, by a married pair?”

“Well, Harry,” Thorfinn circled around to the front of Harry, taking in his fill. Harry had known that the man desired Harry. Ever since arriving here the man had been soft for him. Or, rather, hard. “A newly married pair, with no possibility of children, would often times be given a gift of children. Especially such young purebloods such as them.” Thorfinn nodded his head towards the general direction of the family. Harry’s heart picked up a couple of beats faster. “If, say, you were to accept my hand in marriage, I could ensure the survival of the younger two. The babes would be blood adopted by you and I and we could start our own happy family.”

It was strange that Harry didn’t feel disgusted by this idea of Thorfinn’s. It would be two less children that Harry would have to kill as his own punishment. Marriage to Thorfinn Rowle, Harry’s own obsessed pervert, taking in three children but married to one. What would a fifteen-year-old child bridegroom do with two children? Harry knew nothing of keeping children. He wouldn’t be allowed to be the type of nurturing parent left behind from meetings and such like Narcissa. She hadn’t taken the Dark Mark, yet she still obeyed and performed for their Master.

A husband and two children. Could Harry really seriously consider such a random request? Would his Master even allow it? Footfalls and voices came up from the dungeons. Voldemort’s hissing replies to his newly arrived snake hardly even echoed.

“Do what you have to do.” Harry muttered. “But their safety better be guaranteed before you get my hand.”

Harry glared into Thorfinn’s eyes, burning as much anger and hate into the man’s eyes. Thorfinn broke out into a wicked smile, lecherous and promising. Harry could do worse than Thorfinn. Out of them all that drooled after Harry, Lucius and Thorfinn were the only two who Harry thought he could stand touching him.

Voldemort arrived on the main floor landing, Thorfinn pulling away from Harry slowly. His Master didn’t pause, only held out his hand and the chain floated up as quickly as any Accio. Harry’s mind raced with the possibilities of what Thorfinn said he could do. If he was successful, Harry would practically become Thorfinn’s property and would no doubt demand any sort of sexual acts. There would also be two children to accept as his blood children. Whatever that meant. They wouldn’t be Thorfinn and his, not really, right? They wouldn’t actually mix their blood into the children to claim them as theirs. That would be horrible.

If Thorfinn succeeded, Harry didn’t know what would happen. How much control the man would have over Harry. Because Voldemort certainly wouldn’t accept giving up his most prized possession to someone else. If Thorfinn wasn’t able to convince his Master, then Harry knew it would only be more punishments and bloody cold nights.

Being led in by a chain was just as humiliating as Harry thought it would be. He hadn’t been exposed to the entirety of the Death Eaters like this. So, when he did arrive there were snickers and smiles erupting like a tidal wave. None more so happier than Bellatrix. Who Harry still allowed a sneer towards the woman.

“Friends, I have gathered you here tonight to witness the ending of the Woodrow family. Blood traitors.” Voldemort took his usual perch, Harry expected to kneel in a stress position the entire time. The strain put his legs on fire, he’d been holding this pose for well over a few hours last night. “Though, there has been made a request. A wedding gift of the two youngest children.”

“No!” the Woodrow father shouted, his face was mangled and bloody, but his voice was still strong. “You’re not taking my children.”

He was given the _Crucio_ for his outburst. The mother cried out, begging for it to stop. The two elder boys were already unconscious, with the child curled up in a ball shaking. It was a horrible sight. Harry only hoped that the child hadn’t been hurt before he’d come in.

“Rowle, to me.” Voldemort ordered, not able to take his eyes off of his captives. Thorfinn weaved his way around the suffering family, gaze upon his Master. “You wish to take Harry’s hand, and take the two youngest.”

“It would be an honor to have my request fulfilled by you, My Lord.” Thorfinn bowed, deep and fluid. Harry could only hope that he was that graceful when he got older. “Harry is useless as your vessel. But he is still useful as a Death Eater. I would be proud to have him as my husband, serving our Dark Lord.”

Behind Thorfinn the mother looked up from her husband, eyes searching Harry’s face. Harry shook inside. She had a look of recognition, as if seeing someone from her childhood all these years later.

“You’re Lily’s son.” The woman sat up straighter, clutching her crying baby a little closer. “Take her.” She offered up the babe, Harry’s heart stuttered. “Take Andromache and Archon. Please. Please, please, please.”

Harry didn’t move. He wouldn’t dare without his Master’s command. He watched as the boy, Archon, uncurled, soft doe brown eyes wide and wet.

“I’ll do anything. Just take them.” She was crying now, her arms outstretched with the baby wriggling out of her swaddling. Something deep, primal, and instinctive jerked at Harry when he saw a tiny clenching fist. Light brown to the family’s deeper tan. They were more towards Harry’s natural coloring.

“Anything.” Voldemort muttered. Harry froze inside. She shouldn’t have said that. It always led to something no one would ever want to do. “You may take the children, Harry.”

The chain around Harry’s throat disappeared. With as much control as possible, he walked up to the woman, her arms held out the baby who was quietening some.

“Archon is allergic to nuts. Please. Take them.”

Harry struggled with taking the babe. He’d never held a child before. Ever. He didn’t know the first thing about raising children. Even if he had an instinct to protect the children, he didn’t have it in him to know what to do with someone as young as Andromache. But he took her, he knew from Muggle shows to cradle her head, hold her close, and use both hands. This would be the only time he’d ever thank his Muggle family. And Petunia’s soap opera’s.

“Go and prepare, Pet.” Voldemort stood, eyes staring at the woman hungrily. Harry shuttered, pulling the baby closer to him. Over his shoulder he could see Thorfinn holding onto the sobbing Archon, following Harry with sure steps and bright, gleaming eyes.

Harry wasn’t sure where to go, so he just went back to his Masters’ bedroom. There was a small bedroom connected to it that Harry thought he could put the children if he was allowed to use it. They were, thankfully, too far away now to hear what the fates of the rest of the family. Two children who wouldn’t become part of Fenrir’s pack.

In the bedroom, Harry sat on the floor, legs twisted up to help him cradle the baby. She had quietened significantly but was still hiccupping.

“It’s okay, boy.” Thorfinn took Archon to the couch rocking him. Harry wondered where Thorfinn would have experience enough to sooth a crying child. “You’ll be ours, now. Harry will be your Papa and I will be your Father.”

The joy in Thorfinn’s voice made Harry uncomfortable. His Master hadn’t said what to do with the children, so they occupied the sitting area, soothing their respective child.

“Voldemort demanded to watch the consummation. He and others who had been vying for you since his return.” Thorfinn spoke lowly, as if the words would calm the boy in his arms. “I will not share you. And I will not hurt you. Is there somewhere we can lie them down?”

Not quite processing what Thorfinn was telling him, Harry nodded anyways then looked down at the baby. Down at Andromache.

She had a lot of hair. Black and standing almost straight up. She wouldn’t open her eyes for him, which Harry thought was fine for now. If she opened her eyes at him now, then this all would be too real for him.

“Harry,” Thorfinn interrupted his panicked musing. “Where can we lay them? You don’t want our children to see us copulating.”

“Copulating?” Harry repeated. He was pretty sure he knew what Thorfinn was trying to say. But he’d never heard that word before.

“Fucking.”

“Oh,” Harry nodded, as if he really knew what all that entailed between two men. “There’s a room, through there. It has a bed.”

Harry struggled to get up, unwinding his sore legs while trying to keep Andromache from fussing even more.

Through the door, Harry was surprised to see Narcissa on the other side, Dobby had just finished freshening up the room for them.

“I’ll put them to bed, Harry.” Narcissa took the bundle from him, eyes watching the child the entire time. “They’ll be safe.”

“Harry, love,” Thorfinn was already getting comfortable with Harry being his. It irked him. He really had no shame at wedding and fucking a fifteen-year-old boy. He was excited, it was obvious. Harry went to him anyways; the man’s hand was held out for Harry. “You’ll need this.”

A wand pressed against his rear end, a whisper of a spell and he felt a weird and uncomfortable wetness in his anus. It was becoming too real now. Another spell made his inside tingle, as if cleaned, and then another to warm him inside. Harry could feel his muscles relaxing. It was supremely uncomfortable; he could feel that liquid dripping out of him.

“This will make it easier for you, my darling.” Thorfinn pressed closer to Harry, a clear line of an erection pressing against Harry’s stomach. “I’m quite large and have hurt adults in the past. I would like to avoid that with you, love.”

They’d been summoned back into the larger room; Harry sweating nervously at what could happen. He didn’t know how sex worked between a man and woman, nevertheless between two men.

In the Master bedroom, there was an area cleared and a thick looking rug on the stone floor. Was that where they were supposed to go? He assumed so, as Thorfinn guided him to the round rug. There were certainly people present. People Harry had no idea had wanted him before. Others Harry had tried his damnest to stay away from. He memorized every single face if he didn’t know their names. Among them were, of course, Lucius and Fenrir. What surprised him was Rodolphus and his wife, Bellatrix.

“You will be joined as any marriage. Only the basic of vows as Harry belongs to me, still.” Voldemort was sat in his typical ornate chair. Harry still felt the need to kneel at his side. It was rare that he was facing his Master in this way.

“I am honored, My Lord, to know my husband will be your left hand.” Thorfinn bowed, as smoothly as he had in the meeting room.

“He will still be your lord, Rowle, never forget.” Voldemort’s voice was hard. Harry was surprised to hear that he would remain by his Master’s side. As if this sham of a marriage was able to free him from Voldemort. “No matter how he had so recently disobeyed me.”

Harry bowed his head, trying to act contrite. Even though all he wanted to do was throw up.

Yaxley stepped forward, his posture as stiff as always. He was a ministry worker, though one or four others were as well, and therefore was able to officiate their marriage. Harry had been told that as soon as they consummated their marriage, a certificate of marriage will appear in the Ministry.

Standing closer together, Harry was directed to hold onto Thorfinn’s left forearm with his own left hand. They clasped together, Thorfinn’s large forearm not even covered around the grip of Harry’s smaller hand. A whisper of words from Yaxley, to which Harry had no use in listening to. There would be no way he could get out of this. Not if he wanted to keep those children safe.

The spell was golden with white streaks wrapping around their forearms in a figure eight, enclosing around their grip as if to lock them together. Harry could feel the tingle of the spell dissipate into his skin, warm and tingling pleasantly. Eyes straight forward, Harry was counting the threads in Thorfinn’s robes. He’d gotten up to fifty-two when Thorfinn pulled him closer.

“Take your robe’s off, Harry.” Thorfinn purred in what he might have thought was a soothing way.

Woodenly, Harry began taking each article off. His robes were open style, so each button down from high collar to hips came undone. Underneath was his white undershirt, he pulled that over his head, then his heeled shoes, socks, and his trousers. When he was in his underwear, Harry shivered. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was nervous or cold. He was distant even in his mind. So far away.

Thorfinn’s hand came out to touch Harry’s collarbone, the tingling touch surprised Harry. He’d never been touched like this. Harry’s heartbeat picked up, but not in a way Harry could identify. He was afraid, sure, but being touched so sensually was doing something to him.

“On your hands and knees, love.” Thorfinn was close, Harry could feel the heat of his body. It pulled him closer, as if guided, somehow, to come together. A set of fingers tilted Harry’s head up and suddenly his lips were pressed up against the man’s. His husband.

Distantly, Harry realized he was being kissed. Lips slid against Harry’s; a warm tongue pressed out to invade his mouth. It was nice, he supposed. It filled his chest with something, a sort of desire rising up. Maybe it was the spell. The one to bind them together as husbands.

Mouth opening to accommodate, Harry felt Thorfinn deepen the kiss. It was nice, he supposed. Not enough to get Harry excited, though he pressed up against the taller man, thinking that was what Thorfinn expected of him. Hands roamed around Harry’s naked body, rough hands catching on Harry’s smooth skin. He was the only one undressed, and for some reason, Harry thought that if Thorfinn were undressed it would be too intimate.

Hands travelled from Harry’s back to his hips, narrow and boney, and gripped hard, thumbs pressing on he softness of his pelvis. Something finally tingled in Harry, he gasped at the feeling. Swirling up from his belly and making him warm. The grip on his hips pressed and squeezed some more, eliciting a moan from Harry’s mouth. Teeth nipped at the bottom of Harry’s lips and pulled into Thorfinn’s mouth. The hands moved up, and up, thumbs rubbing at Harry’s nipples this time. Harry arched into the touch.

“So responsive, love.” Thorfinn whispered hotly against Harry’s mouth. Harry’s shiver this time was from desire. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on with his body, but he was getting warmer, he had an erection – which he was used to having – and his thoughts were muddled. “Hands and knees.”

Harry moved, falling to his knees harshly. He realized he was eye level with Thorfinn’s groin, his erection pressing against his closed robes. How big was it? Would it hurt? Harry’s mouth watered, wondering if he was supposed to suck it. He’d seen Narcissa and Lucius once, they weren’t naked, presumably caught up in their desire for one another. Maybe that was how men fucked.

A hand carded through Harry’s hair, gripping him and tilting his head up. Eyes travelled up the length of Thorfinn’s body, long and filling his vision in blacks. What was it with Dark Wizards and black clothing? It was the biggest cliché ever.

Thorfinn released his hand and walked around Harry, who was still on his knees, to stand behind him. Harry refused to look around the room. He already knew who had shifted around to get a better look. His Master to the right, taking up that obnoxious chair.

Pressure at Harry’s shoulders reminded him to shift to all fours, his breathing was heightening, the buzzing in his head clouding his thought. Nerves were building higher and higher.

Underwear was banished from his body, revealing his full nakedness for all to see. Thorfinn brushed the top of his thighs, his ass, and his back, tracing lines so old Harry sometimes forgot they were there. Scars that his healing never could correct. The hand was hot, adventurous, and trailed all the way back down his spine and into the crack of his ass. Harry shivered, fingers pressing between his cheeks to pry them open. The slick stuff that Thorfinn spelled into him earlier cooling as it dripped between his thighs.

A finger rubbed around his anus, pressing and gliding over. Harry thought of dogs mating. The bitch on all fours while the stud fucked into their partner. Maybe Harry was supposed to be the bitch to Thorfinn’s stud. His thoughts raced, distracting him from the press of a single digit into his body, he gasped anyways, feeling full already. Harry was at least two fingers wide, Thorfinn had to be bigger.

Inside, Harry’s body accepted the finger, widening and loosening quickly thanks to the spell before their binding. A second finger was added then hooking at his rim and pulling him wider. Harry’s mouth dropped open, drool collecting behind his teeth. It felt so good. Too good. It had to be the spell. It had to be someone making this feel good for him. Because if it wasn’t a spell, then it meant that Harry was really enjoying this. The fingers pressing in deep, his knuckles buffeting against Harry’s cheeks.

The pressure and fullness increased, three fingers were inside him, and Harry was moaning as they explored his velvet smooth insides. He shook and thrust back, twisted and whined, it was just too good to ignore. To pretend he wasn’t feeling it all. A mouth kissed his lower back and travelled down in sucking bruises onto his skin, until he took a mouthful of ass cheek and bit lightly. The slight pain made Harry arch his back and cried out.

Pleasure. It was definitely pleasure. Harry was enjoying this.

Thorfinn’s mouth bit and sucked where it could, all while those fingers drove in and out of Harry’s body. Ass trying to suck them back in. Three fingers spread wide and hooked and went deep. And just when Harry couldn’t take any more, they were removed from him, ass gaping open to the cool air around them. It was a strange feeling. Arms shaking from want and excitement.

Something hot and blunt and wet pressed against Harry’s ass. He wasn’t innocent enough to think it anything but the man’s dick. It pressed against his loosened ass, muscles giving no resistance to the man’s cock as it pushed forward. The head popped in and made Harry twitch. His mouth still open and panting. He almost missed two hands gripping his hips tightly, fingertips digging harshly into the softness of his hips again. Then, Thorfinn pressed in quickly, burying himself as deep as he could when Harry begun shouting.

It didn’t hurt as much as it felt strange. Thorfinn stretched him well, but the invasion felt like it was rearranging things inside, Harry’s body molding to Thorfinn’s cock. He had a few seconds to adjust to the feeling before his hips rolled, asking silently for more. It felt good. Really good. Better than it should considering Harry didn’t even like Thorfinn.

Hips shallowly thrust inside Harry, pressing deeper and deeper, until hips met Harry’s. Then he was grinding inside. Cock massaging places in him that he never thought about trying to reach. It felt weird, he could feel the cock head in his stomach, distending his skin there and showing off on the outside of Harry’s body. He was scrawny enough that anyone watching might even be able to see the veins of Thorfinn’s cock through Harry’s stomach.

Thorfinn pulled back, the head pausing and playing with Harry’s rim, and in one motion, thrust all the way back inside. Harry shouted again. Reveling in the feeling. Hands tightened and then the older man began setting up a rough, quick pace that knocked the air out of Harry’s lungs. After a few minutes, or an hour, Harry collapsed onto his elbows, the angle changing and causing Harry to gasp and cry out in pleasure.

“You’re mine, now,” Thorfinn grunted, sweat dropping onto Harry’s bare back. “You’re mine after the Dark Lord.”

Harry moaned. His erection dripping and swaying with the thrusts from his husband. It went on like this for a while. Harry eventually collapsed. His shoulders dug into the rug, cheek pressed and rubbing with every thrust. It was heavenly. It felt so good. Thorfinn pressed the middle of Harry’s back until his belly button was as close to the floor as possible. His hips still high in the air, getting bruised by Thorfinn’s rutting.

Harsh and bruising thrusts devolved into quick and shallow rolls of the hips. The rhythm of hips stuttering. Harry didn’t realize what that meant yet. All he knew was his mind was blank, mouth open and drooling as his body was ravaged. Then, Harry felt the twitches of Thorfinn’s cock, it swelled inside him as it pulsed shot after shot of hot, thick cum. Thorfinn growled and grunted. He pulled out and finished on Harry’s ass and back. Drops of cum rolling over the ridges of Harry’s scars.

Harry’s ass was wide open, gaping and dripping cum. It would be embarrassing if Harry didn’t want more. He was still hard and aching for it.

This was trouble. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Harry was supposed to begrudgingly get married, if only to save those children. Maybe he would get groped while being kissed. But Harry had once had every intention to electrocuting Thorfinn if he got too close or comfortable with Harry. He wasn’t counting on his body enjoying then demanding for this kind of coupling.

“Here, darling, let me help you.” Thorfinn gathered the dripping cum from Harry’s thighs and rim and pressed back in. Harry gasped and thrust back on those thick fingers. Two fingers hooked inside, pressing down and searching for something. His other hand reached down and began pumping Harry. He twitched his hips, causing thick, calloused fingers to pressed against something inside him. Harry screamed when he came. Shooting his seed over Thorfinn’s thick hand. Each still pumping and massaging. Pulling every drop out of Harry. He was milked until he began sobbing. But he’d never beg. He’d never ask for it to stop.

It felt too good to stop.


	9. A Husband's Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are ready for these last two chapters. I really want to explore more of Harry's corruption, do you think I should write more chapters instead of a separate series?

Harry was ashamed to admit that he would often roll over in the morning, after their marriage, and demand Thorfinn to fill him again. It was a sort of honeymoon given to them; Harry wasn’t expected to join the meetings while they adjusted to having the children in their lives as well as each other.

Having sex with Thorfinn wasn’t as bad as Harry thought it would be. He still didn’t like the idea of the forty some year-old fucking into him so well. On his back, folded over a couch, up against a wall, or flat out on his stomach on the floor. Thorfinn explored every crevice of Harry’s body with mouth and tongue that the man knew his every taste. He enjoyed when Harry would sweat, and he would lick him up. Harry didn’t mind, as long as he never stopped moving his hips the way he did.

Harry was addicted to sex. Thorfinn could put him in nearly any position and Harry wouldn’t mind it as long as finger, tongue, or cock ended up inside him. His mouth was too small to take more than a few inches of Thorfinn, though that didn’t stop the man from trying. Harry would have to be a snake to unhinge his jaw and take him down to the root. Which wasn’t what Harry thought he could ever do. Though he did wonder how Narcissa was able to go so far onto her husband’s cock that day.

Currently, Harry was bent over the bed, while Thorfinn teased Harry with slow, shallow thrusts. They’d been at it for nearly an hour, now, and Harry had built up a good sweat. The sound of skin on skin made Harry’s stomach heat pleasantly. Thorfinn couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop brushing his hands all over Harry’s body as if in worship. But when they reached up and gripped Harry’s hair, wrapping his long locks around thick fingers, and pulled his head back cruelly, Harry couldn’t help but let out a long moan and tighten. Which would only make Thorfinn growl and fuck the boy harder.

“More,” Harry demanded. Hips met with Thorfinn’s, rolling back and pressing for it to be deeper. “Need more.”

Thorfinn growled. He pulled Harry’s head back harder, hurting his neck, and reached his hand down from gripping hips, and yanked Harry’s leg onto the bed. It opened him up even more, cock driving deeper. Harry mewled, body lighting up like a super nova.

He couldn’t get enough. Harry couldn’t be fucked enough to ask to stop or slow down. He was addicted to it.

Maybe it was because this was the only kind of touch that didn’t hurt. Maybe it was because Thorfinn made it feel good. Whichever it was, Harry didn’t want it to stop. Thorfinn pressed Harry’s face into the duvet and laid into him. Harry would have screamed, would have yelled and demanded for harder. But Thorfinn already gave it to him.

Hips stuttered; Harry could feel Thorfinn get thicker right before coming inside. Harry pressed back, muscles milking his husband’s cock to fill him up more. Thorfinn growled, watching Harry’s small hips roll against him, cum dripping from his loosened hole.

“Merlin’s tits you look gorgeous.” Thorfinn released Harry’s head but didn’t stop stroking with hands. Harry let the man roam over his body, enjoying the attention. “I’ve dreamt of this for so long. Having you hang off my cock like this.”

Harry shivered; the thought of a twelve-year-old Harry married to this pig was too much.

“Fuck you and clean me up.”

It was Harry’s favorite part. Thorfinn pulled out, Harry’s body slurping around the withdrawing cock, and picked Harry up like a ragdoll and threw him onto his back further up on the bed. Hands clamped around the back of his knees and pressed them to Harry’s chest, folding him in half. Then Harry’s husband dove face first into Harry’s center and licked and sucked all the cum from Harry’s body. He was still hard, aching, and ready to pop. But Thorfinn carefully avoided Harry’s balls and cock while he cleaned up his own spunk.

Harry threw his head back and moaned loudly. He enjoyed Thorfinn licking and sucking at him. Cheeks bit and sucked to bruising. It was a few more minutes of the man rimming him with tongue that he crawled up onto the bed and entered Harry again. It didn’t take long for Thorfinn to get hard again when rimming Harry. And he didn’t mind if it meant he could continue getting reamed by that glorious cock.

Weight on the back of Harry’s knees, Thorfinn pressed into Harry, all air coming out his lungs. Hands searched for the larger man and gripped biceps as Thorfinn kept moving inside him. Pounding into him with animalistic fervor. Another thing Harry enjoyed about his perverted, lust-filled husband was how he couldn’t get enough of Harry either.

“Fuck, darling.” Thorfinn’s teeth clenched, grunting with every drive of his hips. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Begging for my cock. Drooling for me to breed you.” Harry wasn’t sure what he’d meant by that. He wasn’t an actual female that could get pregnant. But that never stopped Thorfinn from saying it all. “Can’t get enough of me, can you? Can’t get enough cock stuffed inside your ass. Going to have to keep you naked underneath your robes, so I can fuck you whenever I want. Bend you over in front of the Dark Lord. Show him how much of a whore you are for it.”

Harry’s blood heated up, desire and twisted pleasure at the thought of being watched again making him pant for it.

Thorfinn bent down and devoured Harry’s mouth, tongue licking Harry’s open and panting mouth. It was so hot, the need to have Harry. The want that makes this man do everything he can to touch and tease Harry. To be fucking him into the mattress. Harry would be hard pressed to say he didn’t enjoy the attention.

“More,” Harry whispered against bruising lips. “more, Thorfinn, more.”

Growling, Thorfinn reached down and gripped Harry’s turgid cock, right leg settling on broad shoulders. He was red and sensitive, drooling pre-come. The slide was easy and quick. Harry’s body was tight like a bowstring, he was on the edge and ready to spill all over his chest and chin. Thorfinn liked seeing Harry paint himself with cum. And Harry liked licking it up.

It didn’t take long until Harry came, shouting and eyes closed against the aggressive orgasm. His cum made it into Harry’s hair this time, covering his face with ropes of it. Thorfinn grunted and dropped Harry’s legs. He didn’t stop fucking into Harry’s pliant and oversensitive body. Harry mewled and whined high in the back of his throat. It was nearly too much. His ass was too loose to clench and make Thorfinn come.

Thorfinn laid Harry’s body out, hips driving into Harry’s. He was so much bigger than Harry that he had to bend over to reach Harry’s face and lick all the cum off. Then he travelled down to Harry’s neck. Tongue laving and tracing veins and tendons there. Teeth nipped and bruised, mouth open and leaving wet trails of kisses on Harry. The suck bruises would be peppered all over his neck and chest while his back was littered with light bites that disappeared in a handful of minutes with Harry’s healing.

Drained, Harry allowed Thorfinn to maneuver his body however his husband wanted. Though he was sometimes pinned into difficult positions, Thorfinn took pleasure in simply fucking into Harry, mouth attached to his neck, his stomach pressing and moving against Harry’s spent cock.

“You’re mine, darling. Mine alone.” Thorfinn growled. He was so incredibly possessive. Harry’s body twitched in response. “Mine to fuck and devour. Mine to keep and mine to hold. Mine until the end of our days. No matter what _he_ said. You are mine.”

Thorfinn kept moving against Harry, slowing down into something a little more intimate. Something a little more than what Harry generally liked. But he was too exhausted to say anything against it. He lay there, panting and trying not to sob in oversensitivity, while he felt that long, thick cock moving deep inside him.

It took a bit longer until Thorfinn finally came. His howl of pleasure stuck into the sheet above Harry’s head. He could feel the cum filling him up. Harry sighed, enjoying the feeling. Though he never responded to Thorfinn’s words. Always absorbing, always invaded, always plundered greedily. The attention made the hollowness inside Harry less painful for these few minutes or hours. However long Thorfinn filled him.

“I can’t breathe.” Harry mentioned evenly. He was still panting, heartbeat still somewhere in the sky.

Thorfinn rolled off Harry with a satisfied grunt. They lay there, side by side looking up at the canopy of the bed. It had twinkling silver stars against blue crushed velvet. Harry had once wondered why the insides of bed canopies were decorated so, with little hidden things all around. That was, until Thorfinn had Harry on his back while exploring with tongue. His mind was elsewhere, his body excited for the attention, but his eyes tracing the stars and seeing patterns.

“Narcissa said she will come by to be with you. To help you with the children.” Thorfinn said drowsily. “Andromache only settles for you and Archon. And she’s been having a rough go at it.”

“Pity for her.” Harry didn’t feel pity. He felt empty again. Deeper inside than any man would be able to touch. Deeper than where Harry could tell would end. “I should get cleaned.”

“Let me, darling.” Thorfinn rolled over Harry again, kissing where he could, sucking where he wanted, licking when Harry shivered. He’d had Harry mapped out pretty well by now after only two days. And the searching tongue between his legs was the most agreeable use for his tongue.

They didn’t come out of the bedroom for a while.

Cleaned and fresh smelling, if only for the trace amounts of come in Harry’s mouth, he made his way down to the informal dining room. He still took lunches there whenever Lucius was in from work. It was a requirement from his days of training. He looked forward to it, the owners of the Manor not as horrible and child eating as they made themselves out to be in the beginning.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rowle.” Lucius grinned around a glass of white wine. Harry was tempted to make a face at the man.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Narcissa.” Harry had called the man such only behind his back. He’d seemed like such a second to Narcissa when it came to most decisions. Though she would often remain quiet, Lucius would hardly complete any decision without her approval. Harry once thought it strange, but now he saw the love there. The adoration. Since he saw it every hour from Thorfinn. “How have my children been?”

Archon was sat at the table, next to the empty chair of Harry’s. The boy had yet to say anything to him, even if Andromache was strangely receptive to Harry. They had been waiting for Harry to join them. Even if a place setting was set up across from him where his husband would be sitting.

“Where might Thorfinn be? I assumed he’d finally join us for lunch.” Lucius queried, one brow gently raising in question. Harry ignored the man while he cut up Archon’s food into smaller pieces. He remembered liking his bites small, it seemed to fill his plate up more when he was that age.

“He’s on assignment, the Aurors have been planning a raid on some property in Kent. I apologize for his absence.” Harry watched as Archon played with his food. It was a pot pie, one of Narcissa’s favorites when it was raining. “He should be back late, missing dinner with us.”

“Oh, he can’t have taken an extra day?” Narcissa asked before taking a tender bite. “He should have taken a full week for a proper honeymoon.”

“That would have meant providing our marriage certificate.” Harry reminded. He took a bite of Archon’s food as the boy watched him eat it. Petunia would often model eating food for Dudley if he refused to eat. Predictably, after Harry put the spoon down in reach for Archon, the boy took small bites, then larger ones. “Thorfinn doesn’t want anyone sniffing about.”

“Not as if they wouldn’t be able to smell your cunt on him.” Bellatrix’s crude words floated into the room. Harry’s stomach tightened, though he tried not expressing his hatred of the woman showing up. It would only give her more reason to dig and frighten his son who kept looking at him in question.

“At least my husband is satisfied after sex.” Harry bit back, not dragging his eyes up from watching Archon eating quietly. The boy had the same hair and skin coloring as his sister. The blood adoption has yet to go through, as official papers had to be faked, so the children looked nothing like Thorfinn and Harry so far. If that was Harry’s understanding of blood adoption. It hadn’t been fully explained to him yet.

“Yes, we could hear your whorish moans out in the garden. You really grease his pole well, don’t you?” Bellatrix took a seat next to Narcissa, sneering blatant on her face. “I’m surprised he can pleasure you. Heard he’s no bigger than my pinky.”

Harry snorted. He really hated this woman.

“Hung like a horse, actually.” Harry began eating his own pie. He looked up and into Bellatrix’s shallow eyes. “Almost breaks my jaw.”

“Please,” Lucius nearly begged, “can we cease this detestable subject.”

“Jealous, dear?” Narcissa took a sip of her white wine. Harry blushed when she looked directly at him and winked. “That Thorfinn isn’t sharing?”

“Whore’s should be passed around.” Bellatrix said matter of fact. “Getting a prick wet is the only thing they’re good for.”

“It hasn’t gotten you any closer into the Dark Lord’s bed even if your tits were flavored like meade.” Harry had no problems being called a whore. It should bug him, but it doesn’t. Her barbs were sometimes so juvenile. She growled and summoned a throwing knife. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt; Harry just stared at her. “Careful, Bella. A whore for my husband I may be, but I’m still the Dark Lords’ favorite.”

That seemed to deflate her. If only a little bit. Her eyes weren’t any less cold when angled at him. The meal went on in tense silence for a little longer, until Archon pulled on Harry’s casual robes.

“Papa, what’s a cunt?”

Harry blushed even harder. He hadn’t realized that Archon had been listening to them. Didn’t realize that he would be able to repeat words.

“Um, it’s, well it’s a,” Harry looked to Narcissa for help. She only smiled, placed her wine glass down and drew Archon’s attention.

“It’s an adult word that you should not repeat.”

“Oh.” Archon shrugged his shoulders and kept eating and even asked for seconds. “Where’s Father?”

“At work.” Harry answered, relieved he wouldn’t have to have such embarrassing conversations with the child. His son.

“What does he do?” Archon tilted his head, looking up at Harry.

“He’s an Auror, works to catch bad witches and wizards.” Harry knew that was what a typical Auror does but explaining the differences from bad wizards to dark wizards and even light wizards was also a subject he didn’t want to have.

“If I’m bad, will they come and get me?” Archon looked scared. “Will they get the bad people who took us?”

Us. He meant the Death Eaters who kidnapped the boy and his family. He wasn’t sure who they were, but he’d like not to lie to the boy. He felt a lot like when he used to talk to Severus. Wanting to skirt the truth without telling an out-right lie.

“Do you know who they were?” Harry asked instead, hoping that the boy didn’t see them, or had no idea who had taken them. Because if he knew, then Harry thought Archon would demand for a five-year-olds’ justice.

“No, Dad told me to keep my eyes closed. I was really scared.” Archon was back to playing with his food. Harry’s heart dropped, thinking about how scared he was when he was kidnapped. But to be in a father’s arms while being herded out the door to a strange place only to be separated was something Harry would never get to know.

“You have your Father and I now,” Harry pushed the pumpkin juice towards Archon, who took it clumsily in two hands. “We’ll keep you from those bad people.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Everything hurt. Severus had never known pain this bad before. But it seemed to pass in and out while he fought for consciousness. He was aware he was in a bed. He knew someone was looking over him, giving him pain potions and monitoring his health. What was wrong with him, he didn’t know. But everything hurt.

Sometimes he would be able to open his eyes and see the light of day or the cloaking darkness of night. Sometimes he would hear his students gathered around him, sniffing and crying. Other times he would feel the gentle petting on his arm and think it was Harry.

Harry. His dear and precious boy. What happened to him? Where did he go? He was sure Harry was here somewhere, getting into Merlin knew what. A seven-year-old could only reign in his attention for so long.

No.

Harry wasn’t seven. He’d just had a birthday. Hadn’t he? He’d be eight now.

Eight.

No.

That wasn’t right either. But he was here. Somewhere next to him. Begging for him to open his eyes. Sometimes Severus would hear Harry reading to him. A children’s book that Serverus used to read while Harry was in primary school. Arthur the dragon and his flying adventures. From the Alps in Switzerland to the burning sands of the Gobi desert. Sometimes he would hear the happy little song from his reception and year one school days. Something about speckled frogs.

There were warps of time when Severus thought he was still in Hogwarts school. In the hospital wing after nearly escaping James Potter and his cronies. Then, he would be in his early twenties, talking to Harry as if they were sitting in a couch, reading books and playing with potions. But that hadn’t happened. There were times he didn’t even know who he was.

When he had gained enough consciousness to keep his eyes open for longer than a blink, Severus realized he was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. His throat felt on fire and his chest felt like crinkling paper, thin and ready to break into pieces. What had happened?

“Harry?” Severus called out. He’d had enough dreams of Harry being next to his bed that he refused to believe anything else. He called out for his boy. Eyes rolling with the effort to stay awake. “Harry!” He called out a little louder.

“Calm yourself, Severus,” A strange mediwitch appeared at his side. “No need to get worked up. You survived a very nasty curse.”

“Where’s Harry?” His head felt like cotton, or molasses. Yeah, more like molasses.

“I’m sure someone can get him. It’s five in the evening. You’ve been asleep for three weeks.” She fussed with some bottles next to him, “are you in pain? I can give you another dose right now if you are.”

“Yes, please.” He could feel waves of pain rolling over him. Sloshing inside him, burning a trail along his intestines. “What happened?”

“ _Burning Heart_ curse. It was a broad stroke. I was told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was too far away for something more precise.” She spelled a potion directly into his stomach. It deadened the intensity of the potion, but she knew that. “You were lucky that boy knew which spell was used.”

“Where is he?”

“Severus, please.” She said, admonishing him a bit. He couldn’t feel the effects of it even if he cared. “I’m not sure where he is. But you’re far too weak to accept any visitors at the moment. Rest, and I’ll find Harry for you.”

Severus wasn’t even able to reply when he was passed out again. Lulled to sleep by Harry’s quiet whisperings. Soothing noises that would often occupy Harry’s mind when trying to be distracted in class.

It was dark the next time he woke up. He felt like it was another week since the last time. He felt groggy yet the pain was less. Still hurt, but less in pain.

He looked around, noting that his bed was closer to Poppy’s office than last time. He wasn’t any more relieved, only upset that he wouldn’t be able to see Harry if it were night. He tried to relax into the bed. Thankful that he was propped up on soft pillows so he could see out the windows, he counted the trees in the full moon he could see. It wasn’t much he could do, but it was something to occupy his mind and keep him awake for as long as possible.

Severus eventually fell asleep, though when that happened, he couldn’t be sure. It was daylight now. The early spring air still crisp and sharp. There was a chill in the room, and he was thankful someone had the thought to cover him with a heavy blanket.

Heels clicked down the aisle of beds. Severus had a hard time focusing this time. His thoughts like smoke in his hand.

“Good morning, Severus.” Minerva welcomed him. “It’s the fifteenth of April.”

“That means nothing to me at the moment.” Severus squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the bright lights against the pain in his head.

“It should mean that you’ve been asleep for a very, very long time.” Minerva sounded cheeky. Likely happy that he was awake and responsive. Severus couldn’t recall ever being so injured or hurt to necessitate such a long stay in hospital. “Nearly five whole weeks. Though we weren’t sure you would survive the first thirty hours. The healers had a terrible time of it trying to heal you.”

“Give them a raise.” Severus quipped. “Where’s Harry? I need to see him. Make sure he’s okay after all of this. Has he been checked for any curses? Lingering effects of his capture? I’ll have to make sure that understands it wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault.”

Severus was still squeezing his eyes shut. The light in the room making him feel miserable.

“Severus-“

“He has to be scared. My poor boy.” Severus’ throat almost closed on the lump there. He refused to cry. It would only hurt his head worse. “I expect he’s been treated fairly by Albus. That meddling old fool can’t blame Harry for the attacks in the Ministry. He was forced, I know he was.”

“Severus,” Minerva cut him off with a gentle, cool hand on his. “He’s not here.”

Pausing, Severus breathed deeply, willing the pain to go away. There were still trace amounts of pain from the curse. Likely always would be. Curses were notoriously difficult to heal. And if it were the _Burning Heart_ , Harry must have been scared out of his mind when it was cast on Severus. And rightfully so. He should be dead.

“Can you get him for me? One of the Healers said she would get him. But I don’t know where she went or her name.” Severus sat up, eyes finally opening despite the pain.

“Severus.” Minerva’s voice was harder, though watery sounding. “He hadn’t come back. He’s gone to the Dark Lord.” She stepped closer, face crumpled in empathy. “They have Neville Longbottom as well.”

“They-“ Severus sat up against the iron bed frame. It dug into his back, but he didn’t care. He had to know. “What do you mean by ‘they’?”

“Oh, Merlin, where is Albus?” Minerva rubbed her hands nervously. “After you were cursed, Harry told Albus which spell was used. He ran back to the Dark Lord and left with him and Neville.”

“You can’t believe that Harry was complicit.”

“He attacked school children!” Minerva rose her voice, she might as well have been shouting at him. Tears dripped down her cheek. Rosy blotches rising on her pale skin. “Orchestrated the attack on the Ministry, on Neville and the others. He fought Albus, for Merlins’ sake.”

She was crying now, not minding at doing so in front of Severus. He’d never seen her cry. She’d always reminded Severus of a lady of iron, charging into battle and not flinching at even the darkest of evils. Now, though, she was a grieving woman. Severus could feel his chest constrict painfully. His breath came out in hard puffs.

“No,” Severus denied, shaking his head resolutely. “If the Dark Lord had Neville, then Harry wouldn’t abandon the other boy. He’s being forced, Minerva.”

“Albus said-“

“FUCK WHAT ALBUS HAS SAID. I KNOW MY BOY. I KNOW HARRY.” Severus shouted, his head pounding with his heartbeat. _“Harry, where are you?”_ Severus clenched his fists, grit his teeth and shook his head. “Harry isn’t evil. Dark he may be but not evil. He had been under the cruciatus because he refused to attack. The Dark Lord ordered our deaths, but Harry refused to kill. He angled his spells to go around me when I wouldn’t move.

“My Harry would never kill anyone. Would never intentionally hurt someone because he was ordered. Harry doesn’t hate like that.” Severus sobbed, the burn in his throat and chest spreading quickly to his stomach and radiating out. It was the curse. Likely activated because of his lack of control on his magic. It burned and felt like it was setting everything inside him to char.

He began thrashing on the bed. The pain ratcheting up with every breath he tried to take. It hurt like living hell, but all he could do was cry out in pain and try to breathe through it until those useless Healers came to help him.

Minerva was trying her best, she was no trained healer so she couldn’t know what to do. He didn’t blame her for that. He blamed her for thinking that Harry would act out of his own power to attack and attempt to kill anyone. Especially his friends and other students.

He was out for another three days.

Every day that passed was marked by the light traveling past the wall that Neville was pressed up against. He tried counting, but then it got depressing past fifteen days. He hadn’t had a single visit from anyone, even to come down to laugh and torment him. Except a small house elf with large tennis-ball sized eyes to give him food once a day. Scraps, dry and old though thankfully not spoiled, given to him with a glass of water barely a mouthful.

He’d lost a lot of weight. His clothes didn’t fit him well any longer, and he was colder than before. And so, the days continued. It wasn’t until more than a few days later, Neville guessed that it was ten, that he got his first visit. He was a tall man, likely in his forties, dressed in the typical black, large hands, dirty blond hair that curled around his ears, a handsome face, and wild blue eyes. He was carrying a young boy on his hip, the boy clutched to his robes tightly, head lying on his wide shoulders.

“Longbottom,” The man’s voice was low, deep and strong sounding. “I’m Harry’s husband. This is our son Archon.” He introduced the boy.

“What do you want?” Neville tried not to spit, tried not to sound so rebellious. He had to play at being broken. He hoped it would help make the man realize he wasn’t going to be any ‘fun’ to play with.

“Now, now, Longbottom.” The man admonished lightly. “Say hello to Archon.”

“Hullo, Archon,” Neville finally said, even giving a little wave to the boy.

“Hi.” Archon waved his hand floppily. He looked like he just woke up, sleep still in his eyes.

“Very good, son, Papa will be happy you were being polite.” The man congratulated, bouncing him lightly and smiling. Like a doting Dark Wizard father. “Harry won’t ever say it. Won’t ever tell me, but he’s worried about you. Always looking at the top of the stairs for you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, no one would believe I would give you anything to hold onto.” He shook Archon’s little hand, and the boy thrust his tiny hand past the narrow bars and dropped a tinkling toy. Perfect for a young boy to be playing with. “You like children, right? You like making them smile and playing when they ask?”

Neville couldn’t understand what was happening. Was this man trying to tell him something? Trying to help him somehow?

“All you have to do, is hold onto Archon’s toy. He likes to play with anyone who will pay attention.” The man had kept his eyes on the boy, smiling and stroking the top of his hair. “Archon, do you like playing with Neville Longbottom?” the boy nodded obediently. It made Neville sick to see the man manipulating the boy. “It’s time to go upstairs now, though. Papa is waiting to have dinner with us. Say goodbye to Longbottom.”

“Bye, Longbottom.” The boy waved, but his intelligent little dark eyes tracing Neville the entire time.

Neville didn’t dare touch the thing; in case it was cursed. But if it were cursed, how would the boy hold onto it so safely? It was a confusing conversation to have with a stranger. One who hadn’t even mentioned his own name. And he said he was married to Harry? That the boy was their child? Impossible. Harry was too young to marry. He was too male to have a child that looked so much like him. Though, Neville could see it was all in the shape of the boy’s eyes.

He looked a lot like the two, but he couldn’t be their blood child. Unless it was a blood adoption. Neville’s aunt and uncle had blood adopted a young child, after some time she had begun to look like the rest of the family. But it was always in the eyes. In the subtle shape of the face. He might never be as tall as that man or as petite as Harry. But he would look enough like them.

Though, the biggest part of that strange conversation was… HARRY WAS MARRIED TO AN OLD MAN! He was significantly older than them. It nearly made him sick when thinking about how Harry ended up married to this man. If it was a day or four years, it made Neville’s stomach turn. How could he do it? How could he be with anyone besides Severus?

Severus? Yeah, Severus. That made sense. Even if neither of them had that kind of relationship. But it just made sense. Harry and Severus were meant to be together. Either as friends or so together you couldn’t separate them from another. They could fuse together, and Neville wouldn’t be surprised.

The little House Elf appeared again with a pop. He had a full glass of water this time, though the same type of food if only a little more. A veritable banquet.

“Sir,” the House Elf whispered. It made the hair on Neville’s arms stand up. What was going on? “You’ll need your strength,” the Elf pushed aside a cut of cold chicken breast and revealed a slim bottle of potion. The amount of food hid it so well. “eat, sir."

He disappeared with a pop.

Neville gaped at the bottle, then looked at the small toy dragon, then back. He gripped the dragon in his hand and ate some food before taking the potion. If there was anything that Severus had taught him, it was to have food in his stomach if taking a potion. It tasted worse than the food, making him gag. He chugged the water and ate some more food to get rid of the taste.

He never let go of the toy, sure that he was supposed to keep it with him at all times. He fell asleep with hopes of something happening quickly. The screams from upstairs keeping him awake.

How did they keep that kid away far enough not to hear it all? How could Harry be the type to viciously attempt to kill Professor Dumbledore then to come back to cuddle and put to sleep a young child.

It just didn’t fit. None of it did. Neville refused to believe that Harry was forced to be married to such a paedo, and with at least one child.

Harry’s jaw hurt, saliva dripping down his chin as he sucked off his husband underneath the dining room table.

Thorfinn kept his promise and requested Harry to remain naked underneath the closed robes. He’d press into Harry at any time of the day when he wasn’t at work. Bending him over at the hips and riding the boy out to his orgasm.

Except this time, Thorfinn had indicated for Harry to drop to his knees after lunch and service him. Harry rolled his eyes but did as asked. He wasn’t that put off at being used. But now? His jaw really hurt. He’d gotten to the point that Thorfinn was able to push himself to the back of Harry’s throat. It felt incredible to be forced, if just a bit.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Thorfinn dragged Harry by his hair up and down on his prick. Hips thrusting shallowly to hear Harry gag. The first time he’d actually choked Harry the man had been punished for it. “So beautiful.”

Harry couldn’t take it. His jaw was about to snap.

He pulled off his husband and stood up. “I need you in me.”

“Oh, yes.” Thorfinn grinned wickedly. The door was wide open, anyone could walk in and watch. It only made Harry moan in want. “Come sit on my cock.”

Harry pulled up his robes and straddled his husbands’ hips, one hand lining him up. Sinking down on that thick cock. Harry moaned out shakily, he couldn’t get enough of it. He sunk down slowly, enjoying the catch of skin on skin.

“Fuck.” Harry groaned. Thorfinn gripped Harry’s ass in his large hands and pulled Harry up and down on him. “So good.”

“Move, love.” Thorfinn sounded breathless. Harry leaned forward and nibbled at Thorfinn’s neck, enjoying making the man wild, because it typically led to a good round of sex. The fullness inside him making him hot.

Using his legs, and all the strength that came to him from holding stress positions, he was able to fuck himself on his husband. He kept riding Thorfinn, licking and tasting the man. But he needed more. The chair was too restrictive.

“Fuck me for real.” Harry demanded. “Fuck me on the table.”

Throfinn’s hands gripped Harry’s ass and lifted them up. Harry would never get used to being lifted so easily, to be manipulated so well. Thorfinn settled Harry onto the table, back rocking on the dark oak as he fucked into Harry.

“Going to be quick, love.” Throfinn moaned weakly. Harry had so much control over his libido. So much control on how quickly or slowly the man came. And right now, Harry was clenching so well on the man that he felt like Harry was trying to yank an orgasm out of him.

“Come inside me.” Harry grit out, accepting the new angle. His prostate being pounded in rapid succession. “Breed me.”

Thorfinn gripped Harry’s cock, skin on skin, and jerked the boy to completion. The convulsing muscles did end up pulling an orgasm from him. He fucked through it, pumping ropes of cum inside his lover. His beautiful husband who was looking up at him with lust dazed eyes, his mind likely blank from ecstasy. It was Thorfinn’s favorite look on the boy.

Pulling out, Thorfinn cleaned them up with a wave of his wand. And pulled the robes down to cover his modesty. Though, he did lean forward to leave a sloppy kiss. Harry bit his lip tenderly, not wanting for it to stop.

“Come back soon, daddy.” Harry whispered. “Come back soon and fill me up.” A hot tongue licked across Thorfinn’s lips greedily.

“Soon, Harry.” Thorfinn pulled back reluctantly. He brushed a stray lock of hair from Harry’s scarred face, tucking it behind his ear. Everything about Harry was beautiful. “I love you.”

Harry blinked, hands traveling up and down Thorfinn’s biceps. Green eyes squinting as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

“I know you think you do.” Harry sat up and pulled himself off the table.

It was embarrassing that he only came up to his husband’s chest. He was so petite that Harry hardly could meet anyone eye to eye. Though, Thorfinn was second tallest out of all the Death Eaters.

“But you don’t know me.” Harry straightened out his husbands’ robes, making the crimson cloak look presentable and starchy. A nice homemaker’s spell Narcissa taught Harry.

“Doesn’t stop me from loving you.” Thorfinn kept Harry close to him, tightly against his sated body. “Everyone is wondering who I’ve been seeing. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to let them know exactly who warms my bed and is raising our children?”

“And slitting throats and using curses to kill. Not to mention torturing and tormenting.” Harry tried pushing away, but Thorfinn hugged him closer.

“Darling,” Thorfinn was going to try to sound like a reasonable husband. He wasn’t anything reasonable if he married a fifteen-year-old. “we do what we must. Our lives are the Dark Lord’s. But you are my Lord Husband, and I would follow you anywhere.”

A mean blush erupted over Harry’s cheeks. He’d heard Thorfinn saying such mushy things to him all the time. Acting like Harry hung the moon. Vernon and Petunia would never say something like this. Only Petunia would call Vernon ‘darling’, but it was very few times. Was the man possibly in love with this version of Harry?

“You shouldn’t say those things.” Harry didn’t look over his shoulder for their lord. But he allowed Thorfinn to hold him closer, a large hand rubbing the back of his neck. Which was actually soothing. “The Dark Lord could hear.”

“I would say it to his face if you would believe me.” Thorfinn kissed the top of Harry’s head. “I have to go. Don’t wait up for me. I might be gone all night.”

“Careful,” Harry spoke flatly as Thorfinn went to the floo. “I’ll start thinking you’re cheating on me.”

“Darling, I get laid too often to cheat on you.” Thorfinn winked and announced one of the Ministry floos.

Harry watched the green fire die out. His husband was actually more chipper than Harry ever guessed he would be. Almost nice. He’d never yelled, he never cursed at Harry or the children. And he’d always get up in the night to feed Andromache before Harry could open his eyes. He was even able to pull the first laugh out of Archon.

The man would hold Harry gently after a nightmare. He would ensure Harry was warm enough though Thorfinn ran hot. They talked about random things, as if Thorfinn actually wanted to get to know him. Even if Harry shut him down for anything too personal, he still knew more than Harry thought he shared.

Thorfinn knew Harry liked flying, that he was a Seeker for Slytherin and had been really good at it. Harry’s favorite color was red, his favorite meal was roasted chicken and boiled potatoes. He knew that Harry hated the dark, though that was figured out the first night together. He knew that Harry enjoyed being in the sun, liked spending time reading to the children, and liked to read larger tomes when he thought no one was paying attention.

Harry hated it. Hated how much Thorfinn was showing just how much attention he did show him outside of bed. It didn’t matter, however. Harry still wouldn’t have any feelings for Thorfinn. He had a nice tongue, strong fingers, and a big cock. That was it. It didn’t matter how good of a person Thorfinn tried to make himself out to be. Harry could never open up his heart to him. He was still a proud Death Eater. Liked to tell stories about how he dupes everyone at work.

He was a Death Eater with a nice cock.

“Papa!” Archon shouted from the floor. They were in Andromache’s nursery room, where Narcissa was feeding her. Archon was playing with his dragons and pixies on the floor when Harry entered and ran to him. “Look! Grandmother got me a new dragon! He’s a Chinese Fire!”

“A Chinese Fireball?” Harry repeated. He couldn’t help but smile, seeing Archon finally smiling around him and engaging with Harry. “That’s very beautiful.”

“Grandfather said he’s going to get me a broom when I’m older. He said Father doesn’t want me on one, but I want to fly really high.” Archon babbled on about flying with dragons and chasing pixies. He illustrated how he would fly and capture the pixies on his broom with the toys. “Will you let me fly, papa?”

Archon’s soft brown eyes looked up from Harry’s lap, sitting cross leg amongst a sea of toys. Harry’s heart tugged at the thought of flying. He missed it himself. Missed the wind in his hair, the biting cold when flying too high, and the cheer of the crowd. _“Harry, where are you?”_

Harry froze. He didn’t expect to hear Severus’ voice. It sounded panicked, in pain. And Harry tried answering back but Archon was asking him a question.

“Papa, I said would you fly me to the ocean? Grandmother says there’s a house there we can live in some day.” Archon asked quietly, hope in his voice. Grandmother, of course, being Narcissa. Harry hadn’t argued with Archon when he called her such. Even Narcissa smiled at the name.

“Someday, Archon.” Harry couldn’t promise it. Not at all. But he hoped Narcissa and Lucius would be kind enough to bring the kids there. “Did you help Grandmother with all your chores?”

“Yes! We cleaned Andromache’s room, and put up the curtains. See!” Archon pointed to a set of lovely seafoam green with pure white lace. A little old fashioned, but Harry liked it. He told Archon so. “Thank you! Father likes the curtains too. Even if he wanted them to be blue with bunnies on them.”

“What’s wrong with bunnies?” Harry asked, taking a red dragon from Archon and playing distractedly with the boy.

“I don’t like them. They stink.” Archon wrinkled his nose, making Narcissa laugh.

“He was introduced to the warren today. He didn’t enjoy it.” Narcissa smiled gently. She lifted Andromache to burp her. Harry watched how carefully she maneuvered Andromache. She had gotten bigger in just a month. More hair and her eyes staying open longer. Harry enjoyed learning how to make faces at her to make her smile.

“Well I like bunnies. They’re soft and fast.” Harry kept talking with Archon on nearly every subject he brought up.

He was painfully reminded of the differences between himself and Archon at the same age. Harry had been afraid of talking too much. Of asking Severus too many questions. But Archon wasn’t fazed. He asked anything and everything he could think of. He seemed to be well enough adjusted but would still often ask about his parents and cousins.

Harry had found out that the two older boys were the mother’s nephews. But had been living with the family for extra protection from the Dark Lord. What a load of help they were. They were still captured and executed.

When it was time for his nap, Archon asked for a story. Harry told him to choose the book while he put Andromache to bed. She still wouldn’t sleep unless Harry rocked her. Harry was always nervous about holding Andromache. Especially if he was by himself, too afraid of dropping her or hurting her.

Once Archon was settled into bed, Harry pulled out the book the boy selected. _Arthur the Dragon and His Adventures_. Harry’s heart pulled painfully in his chest. Everything about having a child tended to make Harry feel awfully nostalgic. Except now, the roles were reversed.

“Papa,” Archon asked after the story was over. His eyes were heavy, and he was slightly cross-eyed with exhaustion. Harry thought it adorable. “Will you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course, Archon.” Harry replied softly. He didn’t much want to be alone either. “Just until you fall asleep, I have to meet with the Dark Lord soon.”

“Okay.” Archon’s face went white. Harry felt bad for making the boy scared but there was no way to mention the Dark Lord without calling him so. “Good night, papa.”

“Good night, lamb.” Harry had taken to calling Archon the nickname. For some reason. Or no reason at all, it felt sweet and something a loving dad would say.

Harry watched Archon sleep, wondering what kind of life the boy would have when he got older. Would there be a war? Would the Dark Lord win? Would the Light win? Or would it just be a never-ending circle of Dark and Light? The future looked very bleak if one looked at it all in those terms.

Instead, Harry tried wondering about if Narcissa would teach the children French. He wondered what the boy’s first heartbreak would be. What house would Archon be sorted into? Harry wondered if Archon would be kind, gentle, and loving. Or if he would end up twisted and dark like so many who had taken up residence here.

Malfoy Manor was no more home to Harry than Narcissa was the children’s blood grandmother. But he supposed they had to have something. Archon and Andromache would have a home. Narcissa, Thorfinn, and Harry would love the children. Lucius might one day even like them. Merlin forbid. They would have friends. They will make enemies. They would continue growing until their last breath.

Such deep thoughts generally turned bleak as well.

For as long as Harry and the children remained here, under the Dark Lord’s rule, they would eventually become just as evil as everyone else.

Now, however, Archon and Andromache were sweet, innocent, and had so much in front of them. There was no way that Thorfinn was as kind and loving as he was pretending to be. So, Harry had to protect the children from all Death Eaters. Even if it was himself.

About half an hour later, Harry went to Andromache’s room and watched her fuss. She’d woken some small time ago and he sat there watching her. Narcissa would often make faces to make her laugh, give her a knuckle to chew on, or bounce her and hum to soothe the babe. Harry felt he should be doing something with her as she gave a small cough and cry. He needn’t worry, she fell asleep soon enough.

It was a quarter hour until he had to meet with the Dark Lord. So he made his way to the top of the stairs of the dungeons. He hesitated going down, knowing that he was likely being watched. But he stood there, long enough to get a whiff of damp stone and human waste. If anything, Harry could complain that he was tired of the smell.

He was at the gate quicker than he could recall.

Neville looked like he was sleeping, curled up on his side and facing away from the gate. Pity rose up in Harry, sharp and sorrowful. Pity for himself and pity for Neville. There should never be a world where a child suffers. Especially those targeted by dark lords. He withdrew his wand and gave it a wave and couple of spells. The stink disappeared and the waste cleaned up. A couple more spells to keep Neville warm and another to relieve any pain he might have. Even if it were by a small margin.

Harry turned to go, every intention of leaving swiftly before he was caught.

“Thank you, Harry.” Neville’s tiny voice echoed in the large dungeon. “Your husband were here. With your son.”

Stomach tightening, Harry turned back around and faced Neville. He was still dirty, clothes hanging from his frame, but his eyes just as bright as he remembered.

“What did he do?” Harry asked, voice low. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“So you are married to that bugger?” Neville sounded accusing. “I didn’t believe him when he said it.”

“Thorfinn Rowle,” Harry sighed heavily. “a pervert who finally got what he wanted.” Neville shivered and curled up tighter. Harry couldn’t imagine Neville going through what he did. Being forced to marry and kill and torture.

“Does he hurt you?”

“Only once, and that was in bed.” Harry didn’t mind talking about these things. He was numb to it all anyways. “Otherwise he’s maybe too attentive. And snores.”

Harry thought the conversation deserved a laugh. But none came up. Neville was only looking at him with the same pity in his eyes that Harry felt a moment ago.

“Don’t judge me until you’ve gone through the same trials.” Harry scoffed, anger building up. Finally, something other than this cold numbing pain. “I’ve done everything I could to survive. To hopefully see Severus one day. Then I find out he’s a bloody Death Eater. And since the Masters rising, I’ve had to kill children and torture mothers. It didn’t matter what they said, I had to do it. Only to see him again. If only to be held again.”

“Look, I don’t blame you, Harry. I never have for what I’m sure you’ve had to do.” Neville stood, taller than Harry, of course, but not hunched in defeat. “Just come back. Come back home.”

“HARRY!” Voldemort bellowed from upstairs. The echo bounced dangerously down the stairs. It shook Harry inside and made him sprint, ignoring Neville’s own call. Harry gave up trying to present himself in a certain manner, poised and controlled. He was shaken by Neville calling him back. “What took you so long?”

“I-I was,” Harry thought quickly, trying to come up with some reasonable excuse. Not that it mattered. He’d be punished anyways. “in the loo.”

There was a pause. Voldemort was standing in the formal dining hall, but it was cleared out of everything. Bare down to the stones and wooden floors. There was a large white circle with runes Harry was never taught. He’d seen a circle like this in one of the books he’d stolen when he was younger. It had similarities to an alchemic circle.

“Come,” Voldemort held out his hand, indicating where he wanted Harry to kneel this time. “We begin.”

It was possibly the twentieth attempt at Voldemort bonding his soul to Harry’s body. Two since he’d been married. It was getting physically exhausting.

As he knelt, Harry observed several persons gathering around the circle. He hoped it would either take this time or end Voldemort’s search for the bonding. There were so many other things they could be doing instead. Gathering more supporters, bribing more ministry workers, turning more matured people into werewolves. Though, this distraction had been giving Neville borrowed time.

The ritual began, without Harry being told what was going to happen. But it didn’t matter. There was nothing to do against the Dark Lord’s will.

Flames erupted around the circle, white and sparkling. The chanting got louder as the flames grew, cutting off Harry’s view of his lord. It was a few more breaths when Harry’s electricity began erupting from his skin. He hadn’t summoned it, but it appeared anyways. Unexpected and unbidden. The bolts danced lazily in the room, hanging on desperately to the chandeliers and candelabra and sconces. Then, a bright blue light surged up from his core and floated along a string from his navel.

Harry watched in awe as another thread strung along wildly around the room and through the wall and likely beyond. It pulsed as if with life, to the very beat of his heart. And, curiously, another beat was sent back, colliding along the string and passing through. It was ghostly and the hue only growing stronger.

“What does this mean?” Voldemort had to shout over the sound of the flames.

“It means, My Lord,” A woman shouted back, “he’s completely bonded to another. There isn’t even a marriage bond tying Thorfinn and he together.”

“What must I do?”

“Find the anchor. Destroy them.” The woman offered. The flames began dying out, then were extinguished. But the blue thread and ball remained. “The young lord could tell us who he is bonded to. Yet, this is an old bond, one that has been with him for as long as he’s been alive. He may not even know who it is. And it’s very strong.”

“How do we find them!” Voldemort was pacing, angry and shouting. His wand had been drawn and Harry was suddenly frightened.

“You may not be able to.” The woman, red-headed and rather large and old, smiled and exposed three brittle teeth. “But you can still dissolve the bond through another rite. And you’re in luck. June 4th has a total lunar eclipse. Perfect for a powerful new beginning. We can harness that power and cut the bonds the young lord has been forced under so that you can have him completely.”

Harry had been watching the lingering blue light, hardly paying attention. Yet, when the woman had mentioned severing the bond he had with a mysterious person. Everything in him ground to a halt. They were going to take away the last bright thing in his life. The last link to the outside world, to the Light, that he likely had. Something this beautiful and this warm couldn’t belong to someone evil. Light Magic were blues or often times white, while Dark Magic were reds and shades of black ash.

This Light had been the only thing keeping the Dark Lord from bonding with Harry. From taking his mind and soul apart from his body. If he had been conflicted of any alliances since his kidnapping, he sure hadn’t been any more.


	10. Come Home... Please

Harry was fitful in trying to sleep. Possibilities of finding who he was bonded to thrummed through his mind just as quickly as adrenaline pumped his veins. He had to find that person and warn them. Or save them. But who would want to be bonded to a Death Eater? The Dark Lords’ pet. The child-bride of a traitorous Auror, meant to uphold the law against the Dark Lord and his ilk.

Shivering, Harry nestled deeper into the blankets of his marriage bed. Large and soft, it provided more comfort for him than being at the foot of his Master. More comfort than Narcissa’s gentle pettings and soft hugs.

Harry became aroused thinking about her, his prick not understanding that it wasn’t needed right yet. He’d beg for his husband’s cock as soon as he arrived, but until then, Harry was left with his thoughts as he fought for sleep.

Just when he was finally drifting into that void, Harry felt the depression of another body behind him. A wandering, hot hand dipped to the front of Harry’s groin where he was soft and warm. He slept naked, for their mutual benefaction. And he was never so happy he lubed himself up before finding a comfortable position. He rubbed back against the dripping length behind him. Harry’s mouth watered at remembering his husbands’ taste.

“Fuck me.” Harry demanded, turning on the spot and pushing Thorfinn to lie on his back. Harry pulled the covers off and straddled his husband. His smaller body accommodating. Thorfinn growled, thrusting up into Harry’s hand when he took him, angling that cock to enter his used hole.

“Oh, my love.” Thorfinn gasped when he entered Harry’s loose ass. He thrust up hard, nearly bucking Harry off with the force of it. Groaning when that lovely piece of flesh attached to the monster nestled deep inside Harry. It was dirty. It was hot. It was the very distraction Harry needed. “Were you too eager? Couldn’t wait for me to get home so you fucked someone else?”

Thorfinn’s large hands gripped Harry’s hips, guiding his body to slam against his hips. Harry moaned wantonly. More. He needed more. Harry dragged his blunt nails down Thorfinn’s forearms, red marks left in their wake. Thorfinn ground against his young husband, moaning when Harry clenched tightly.

“Fuck. Your cunt is so good, darling.” Thorfinn thrust shallowly, watching the outline of his cock on Harry’s stomach. “Can’t get enough cock, can you, kid.” Thorfinn sat up, an impressive display of muscles and bodily control as he kept thrusting inside Harry. The boy whimpered, the angle changing, teeth digging into his neck. “Would you take any cock, my dear?” Harry twisted pleasantly when Thorfinn pinched and pulled his nipples. A wet tongue laved at his neck, wetting it just as much as Harry’s hole was. Harry shivered at the stimulation.

“If that pleases you.” Harry muttered, mouth tracing the muscles in Thorfinn’s shoulder. He didn’t care what happened to his body. As long as it was as pleasurable as what Thorfinn delivered. Harry couldn’t be bothered to care for how twisted his mind became recently. How he hung on to Thorfinn and his driving pleasures that made him stay. Made him want to hear the ignorant platitudes fall from his lips.

“That’s right, baby boy.” Thorfinn grunted when Harry bit into his chest, leaving a deep, red mark behind. Small tongue twirling around his nipple. “Let me finish with your cunt before our friends destroy your hole.”

It was the darkest that Thorfinn ever sounded to Harry. His desire driving him to think of all sorts of scenarios where Harry was being fucked. It didn’t matter much to Harry. As long as it made him feel this good.

“Finish inside me, husband.” Harry panted, riding Thorfinn as well as he could. Harry decided to play along. “And watch how their cock fucks your seed out of me.”

Thorfinn moaned long and loud, a hot hand gripped the back of Harry’s neck as he pressed the boy into the sheets. The animalistic grunts and slapping of flesh drove Harry’s own arousal higher. He pounded into the smaller body, calling Harry all sorts of names the entire time. A litany of perversion pouring from behind his grit teeth. Harry shouted when he came, riding out the pleasure Thorfinn slammed into him. Of course, the man didn’t stop even after Harry came. Thorfinn marked more of Harry’s skin with his mouth, teeth, and tasted with his tongue. Nipples pinched with nails, pulled viciously. Harry cried out, sobbing this time when Thorfinn stroked Harry’s limp and spent penis. He was too sensitive, too much being laid onto his body.

“Thorfinn, please.” Harry begged. He bucked against the hold on his cock, trying to get away but only drove himself onto his husbands’ dick. “Please cum. Please.”

Harry begged for a few more minutes, twitching and rolling his hips to try to get away from that encircling of slick fingers. His hole twitched pathetically as it was reamed. His voice was eventually swallowed by the hungry lips of his husband. Harry’s body was going to shatter, collapse in on its self. Thorfinn wouldn’t stop until Harry got hard and came one more time.

But he couldn’t. It was all too much, it was painful. Tears and sweat wet his face, settling into the grooves of the love bites.

“Tell me you love me.” Thorfinn demanded, still rutting. Harry cried some more. “You haven’t thrown me off you. So, tell me you love me.”

Harry shook his head. His cock filled slowly, though not enough. His hips grew sore from being opened so wide. This beast was mad. But Harry didn’t give in to him.

“Tell me you love me.” Thorfinn kept demanding. Licking, biting and thrusting. Harry begged some more for him to stop. But it was useless. Harry’s body contradicted his words. Small hands dug into Thorfinn’s back, dragging him closer, gripping into his short hair. Even his small hips rolled with Thorfinn’s mating. “Tell me, dove. Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“I love you.” Harry surrendered. He didn’t love him. But he wouldn’t be able to escape this delicious torture without those words. Three little meaningless words. “I love you, Thorfinn. Please. Please.”

Thorfinn pounded into Harry’s body, thrashing him against the sheets, driving him up on the bed. Harry hung on, prick filling out fully now. Harry cried. It was too much. Far too good.

“Oh, Harry.” Thorfinn shouted. His cum filled Harry. Hips slamming into Harry forcefully, plugging and filling him how they both wanted it. Rope after rope of cum, Harry’s cock twitched painfully before he followed his husband over the edge. Harry shouted, screaming in pleasure too painful he saw black spots.

His vision swam, his body felt like he touched a wall outlet. Harry twitched and moaned against the tongue cleaning him up. He moaned pitifully.

“Damn you, Thorfinn.” Harry’s voice was sluggish, his original accent bleeding out. Thorfinn had the decency to look chastised when he looked up.

“You looked like you enjoyed it, though.” Mouth sucked bruises into Harry’s stomach, the inside of his hips, his chest. Harry pushed his head away, gasping still in breath. Thorfinn hummed in satisfaction and climbed back up the bed to stroke Harry’s wild hair back into some form of control. “I’m so happy with you, my love.”

They kissed lightly, lips and tongue gliding over Harry’s. The boy arched into the attention, body reaching for more touch no matter the form of it. Though, Harry’s hands remained at his side, not exploring his husband the way Thorfinn was.

“I met with Longbottom the other day.” Thorfinn said between kisses. Harry pushed at Thorfinn’s shoulders, giving himself some space.

“I know. He told me.” Harry groused. He hated it when people took liberties with Harry, assuming that Harry would never know that Thorfinn would have met with the other boy. “I’m surprised you didn’t offer up your other hand in marriage.”

“Oh, darling,” Thorfinn rolled onto his back, dragging Harry stiffly along with him. He leaned back, one arm behind his head to prop himself up. He traced the lines on Harry’s face, taking every absorbing moment to commit Harry to memory. “Both of my hands are full with you. I couldn’t possibly take on another boy. No matter how much I deserve a harem."

The wink was supposed to be playful, but Harry took that as a threat. He recognized the lack of jealousy, but let his exasperation fill his lungs.

Ignoring the gentle jibs and playful hands, Harry laid his head down on Thorfinn’s chest. The sparse amounts of hair tickling his nose. Harry let his mind wander, put into a trance at the light touches on his ass and back. Those fingers often dipped between his cheeks to wet with cum, drawing designs to dry and crack on Harry’s skin uncomfortably. He let Thorfinn do whatever, glad to feel the other’s heat, the gentle touch, the attention that didn’t bring torture.

“Would you consider being lent out to your followers, lord husband?” Thorfinn asked, lips gracing the crown of Harry’s head. “There are enough here that would enjoy you. Enjoy whatever attention you give them.”

“Fuck you.” Harry muttered. He considered biting Thorfinn’s nipple off, but the man might view that as foreplay and reciprocate. They both had enough scars. Thorfinn’s earned as an Auror, Harry’s through simply existing.

“It would be fun, my love.” Thorfinn chuckled, his hands stopped wandering, making Harry believe that his husband was serious. “I’ve just warmed you up for them. They could ride that pretty ass of yours. Pump you so full of cum I could eat you out for hours. What do you say?”

“Them?” Harry tried sitting up, his head was still swimming. “You were serious.”

“Of course, dove.” Thorfinn sat up, hands dragging on Harry’s body, eyes following the invisible trails of touch. Harry rolled off him and let his body settle into the bed passively. Thorfinn will do what he wants, with or without Harry’s explicit consent. “Rodolfus, your favorite follower, and Lucius, our most insistent. They want you so bad Lucius offered to pay for the kids’ every need. Even their education if he could have you. And your precious sycophant would change his allegiance for simply a taste of you."

A wicked gleam in Thorfinn’s eye illuminated behind the jovial attitude he usually wore. Harry was only now recognizing that it was there the entire time. He shivered, and it had nothing to do with reacting to the men in question entering the bedroom. Naked and dripping in arousal. Narcissa was there too, hand already in her cunt, rubbing herself as she watched her husband approach the bed. Harry’s head spun at the change of events.

“Now, be good to them, husband. Our every dream will be soon realized.” Thorfinn stood and reached out to Narcissa. She took his hand easily, breasts swollen and taking in Thorfinn’s attention.

Harry lay there as Lucius came up to the bed, kneeling on it and spreading Harry’s tired legs. His silver gaze tracing every bruise and the wetness still inside Harry. “I finally get to have you.” Lucius bent down and began licking up Thorfinn’s cum from Harry’s hole. Still sensitive, Harry gasped and bucked.

A large hand, gentle and calloused turned Harry’s head to the side. Rodulfus looked incensed. As if he were seeing his god for the first time. Pride swelled inside Harry, despite how exhausted he felt. Distantly he could hear Narcissa’s moaning, slurping sounds could either be from his husband or Lucius.

“My Lord.” Rodulfus breathed out before sealing their mouths shut. Harry allowed it, closing his eyes and letting his body float between these two men. Tongue quickly gave way to fingers as Lucius pumped inside him, dragging out Thorfinn’s cum. Rodulfus was insistent, a gentle pressure against his mouth and tongue. He tasted good. Dammit.

“Get on the bed with us, Rodulfus.” Harry ordered. He pressed a hand on Lucius’ arm, signaling for him to pause.

Shifting to his hands and knees, Harry crawled up the bed towards where Rodulfus sat, stroking his cock while watching his lord. Power. Harry had it in spades with these men. At his command they would destroy. At his whim, they would conquer. At his beckoning, they would reduce him to a drooling mess.

He swam in that power.

“Let me pleasure you, my loyal one.” Harry breathed over Rodulfus’ cock, the man twitched full body. Harry smiled. “I’d like to reward you well.”

Harry opened his mouth and swallowed Rodulfus to the root. The man groaned, hand coming up to Harry’s loose hair. It cascaded around Harry like a shroud. Protecting this sacred act. A hand on his hip was the only warning he got when Lucius filled him. His cock was not as big as Thorfinn’s. But it might be difficult finding anyone who did match his husband.

Humming in pleasure, if not a little pain, Harry rocked between the two men. His head was guided with more and more force as Lucius jackrabbited inside him. After a bit, Harry was lifted off Rodulfus and watched as he shifted to his knees. Lucius paused, watching the movement.

“May I fuck your throat, my lord?” Rodulfus asked, watery voice begging for grace. Harry nodded and opened his mouth, red tongue sticking out. Both men moaned at the sight.

Rodulfus wound his hand in Harry’s long hair, a good hold, and pressed into his open mouth. Harry choked a bit, but quickly swallowed and relaxed his throat. Soon, Rodulfus was aggressively fucking his mouth, cock dragging into the back of his throat. All Harry could do was take it. It was heavenly.

He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to react. All he had to do was let these men use him. And that was enough to chase away the crippling loneliness. It was enough to soften the cracks in his heart.

Lucius pulled out of Harry, the boy wondering what he was doing. Then, he felt a sharp smack on his opening. It jolted Harry, his dick twitching in response.

“Such a good pussy.” Lucius groaned, slapping Harry’s asshole again. Harry moaned as well as he could, his body tingling. “I could satisfy you when your husband is gone for the day.” Another smack, followed by groping to his ass. Rodulfus ground into Harry’s throat. “Or you could just lay yourself out on the dinning room table. Offer your slutty ass and mouth to any passing cock.”

More slaps came, making Harry bow his back, silently begging for more. Fingers dug inside him, four, then five. The man’s slender hand pressing against his loose hole. His ass was spanked, right over his scars. His thighs next.

Gasping, Harry was pulled off of Rodulfus. Breathing for air before that lovely cock was pressed back inside.

“Your pretty pussy should have been fucked the first night you came here.” Lucius kept fucking him with his five fingers, pressing his fist against the stretched rim. “Your pussy used and loose. Such a pretty little boy hanging off all sorts of cocks.”

Harry shuddered. Yes. Harry thought. Use me. Make me forget where I am.

At last, Lucius’ wet fist made it inside Harry. Harry moaned around the cock in his mouth as that fist fucked him. He was shaking in pleasure. Arms and legs weak as Lucius and Rodulfus used him to their will.

“Come, help me fuck him, Rodulfus.” Lucius breathed. He was likely watching where his fist disappeared inside Harry’s small body. “We’ll make sure he remembers other cocks than his husbands.”

Rodulfus pumped a couple more times before pulling Harry’s hungry mouth off. Harry whined when Lucius’ fist was removed as well. “Fuck,” Harry’s shaky voice found air. “Fuck me. Fuck me now.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Rodulfus lifted Harry’s body up, arranging them so Harry lay chest to chest on Rodulfus. They kissed hungrily as Lucius gripped Rodulfus’ cock and pressed it inside Harry’s loose hole. Harry whimpered when he realized how wet he was. Lucius must have added another spell while he was not paying attention.

It wasn’t another breath or two when Harry felt Lucius’ cock line up as well.

“This night will not be over soon.” Lucius promised. He pressed forward, the head of his cock popping inside Harry. Harry moaned inside Rodulfus’ mouth.

Together, both men immediately began fucking Harry. A handful of thrusts and Harry was coming. His tightened hole quivered and dragged out two orgasms quickly. Harry wasn’t sure if he was relieved or upset they were done so soon.

The men pulled out. Harry winced, his body definitely loose and exhausted. He may be fifteen but he had his limits. He refused to use his magic to recuperate and risk erasing the buzz of satiation.

“My turn, my dear.” Narcissa cooed. Harry opened his eyes and noticed Narcissa had been waiting patiently by the bed. Rodulfus got up and cleaned himself off. Lucius and Thorfinn were locked in a kiss, hands dragging against one another.

Narcissa pressed her wand to Harry’s groin. He hissed when the spell made him hard again, instantly. It hurt, but he didn’t stop her as she straddled him. Harry gripped her ample hips as she began riding him. He could feel, more than hear, his husband and Lucius fucking beside them.

A few minutes passed like this, her wet folds surrounding Harry well. He knew now, how these men could cum so quickly with a tightening of a cunt. She worked hers well against Harry.

They rolled, Narcissa pulling Harry on top of her. Long legs wrapping around Harry’s waist as he thrust inside her. It was great. This was great too. Narcissa moaned and thrashed against Harry. He wasn’t as big as his husband, but he was nearly close. So, he was confident that Narcissa was not faking it.

“Come inside me, son.” Narcissa stared right into Harry’s eyes. “Fuck me.”

Harry shivered. He leaned down, much like his husband would do to him, and licked and sucked at her large breasts. They were soft and filled his mouth. Harry rolled his eyes at the taste of sweat, come, and his husbands’ saliva still clinging to her. It was a heady combination.

“Fuck her, boy.” Lucius whimpered, he was being buggered on his knees by Thorfinn, his arms giving way at some point that his shoulders were pressed into the mattress. Harry watched as Lucius was reamed, over and over again. Hair disheveled and clinging to his sweaty skin. He was beautiful. “She’s fertile. She’ll take your seed. Give you a real child.”

Harry moaned, sucking and biting Narcissa’s breast. His hips stuttered, he could feel himself about to come.

“Fuck me, Harry. Give me your child.” Narcissa begged, her voice sweet. Harry had always complied to her. No questions asked. “Give us another heir. You and me. Use me.”

He came violently. He whimpered around the tit in his mouth, her gentle hands petting Harry. Cooing and begging for more cum.

Panting, Harry was curled against Narcissa, cradled against her chest. Harry was shaking, distantly he knew he was crying, arms surrounding her narrow waist. A waist that would round with his child if they had their way. But he kept crying. He kept his face hidden in her breasts.

“It’s alright son. I’m here.” She kissed and licked his face gently, taking away the tears. “Let me take care of you. Let Lucius take care of you.”

It took a while for Harry to calm. Breathless and face hot he tried to sit up. She sat up with him, her leg thrown over his hips, wet cunt grinding on him.

“Here, dove.” Thorfinn extended a hand, a blue bottle of potion in his hand. Harry didn’t think. He couldn’t. His brain was fucked out. His body responding automatically. Harry drunk it down. Dry throat soothed, shivering body warming, his aches and pain disappearing. He shook his head, a tinge of pink surrounding his vision before quickly vanishing. “Did you see the pink? Good.” Thorfinn leaned forward and kissed Harry on his mouth. It was rare for them to do so. “Now, let’s make sure you never leave us. Shall we?”

Harry was guided, once again, inside Narcissa. She was busy taking her husband’s cock in her mouth, while Rodulphus lined up behind Harry. His brain was fuzzy. His heart pounding against the thorns in his chest. It hurt. Everything hurt. But it also felt good. Waves of it passed over him as their night continued well into the next morning.

Severus continued drifted in and out of consciousness. The times he was awake he kept up a litany in his head, like a prayer, trying to reach Harry. But his boy wasn’t responding. Despair didn’t have the energy to overtake his pain. So, he slept. He was told the day, the time, and reminded how long had passed. It all meant nothing if his boy wasn’t answering him.

Did Harry know he was alive? Did anyone know if Harry or Neville was alive? Maybe they weren’t telling Severus, trying to keep him from going into shock. Or another round of hysterics that lead to a flare-up of pain from the curse.

“Good afternoon, Severus.” A healer, one that Severus barely remembered, approached his bed. “I’m glad to see you’re still awake. Are you hungry?”

Severus nodded his head, unable to do anything else. She cast a few charms over him, taking the readings and recording them on a piece of parchment. She sat him up gingerly, fluffed his pillows, and opened a window to let in the early spring warmth.

When she returned, it was with Poppy and a tray of food. They kept him company as he slowly ate and drank the simple foods.

“You won’t be able to manage much by way of solids, yet.” Poppy confirmed what he was afraid of hearing. “The Burning Heart compromised a lot of your internal organs. It will take months, if not years, before you’re fit enough to move unassisted. I’m sorry, Severus.”

Nodding, Severus fought with his exhaustion to remain awake.

“No magic?” He asked, voice rough and throat in pain.

“We’d prefer if you didn’t perform any magic. The curse may flare back up. It’s happened twice already since the initial cast. It’s been difficult getting you stabilized.” The healer, he was told her name four times now, replied gently. He nodded, trying to commit this to memory, worried that he’d been told this before.

“Harry?” Severus kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the pity in Poppy’s eyes.

“We’re still looking for him and Neville.” Poppy stood, suddenly wanting to be busy. He let the two healers move around him, watching their progress. There was one other student a few beds down, rolling on his side. Severus couldn’t be bothered to ask what was wrong with the Ravenclaw girl.

Time morphed again, but this time not much has passed. It was only the next day. He must be making progress at long last.

Voices could be heard, filtering up to his ears from somewhere around him. Or maybe all around him. His favorite students chattering around him heatedly.

“What is this racket?” Severus choked out.

“Sev!”

“Your awake!”

“Thank Salazar.”

“Good morning, sir.”

The voices mingled together, he looked around himself, propped up in his bed again, and took in his students. He lifted a tired eyebrow, demanding an answer.

“Sir, how are you feeling?” Ron asked, he hovered at his bedside, seemingly ready with water or the cup of broth steaming on the bedside table.“As if I had drunk fire.” Severus shifted in his bed. “What is going on?”

“We came to sit with you. It’s the only place we can get some quiet. We’re sorry.” Hermione edged, she had a book held up like a shield in front of her. There were pieces of candy on her casual robes and in her hair. What had been going on?

“What day is it?” Severus asked, trying to form his thoughts.

“April 20th. You’ve been out nearly two whole months.” Draco answered, he stood at the foot of the bed, ink smudges on his fingers.

Two months? It’s been two months since Harry and Neville had been taken by the Dark Lord? Severus needed to get up and moving. He needed to get the boys back. There wouldn’t be many who stood in Severus’ way if he’d had his full strength. But, as it were, he was laid up. Body still healing with many more months, if not a couple of years, to go. There was no telling when he’d be able to use his magic again.

The teenagers around him shifted warily, as if he were interrupting them. Sighing, Severus thought he knew what these miscreants were up to. He figured that he should concentrate what little energy he has to situations a little more immediate than planning a rescue.

“What is going on? You lot are up to something.” Severus asked again, voice tired. His body was stiff, sore, and his throat burned with every inhale.

“Us? Up to something?” Ron asked, his lip gaining the most of his nervous attention. Severus would have scoffed if he had the energy.

“You are planning something. Out with it.” Severus demanded. He looked at each of his students before his eyes landed on Blaise. The boy looked near manic, breath shallow and quick.

Blaise looked at the others, seeming to gain confidence and permission from them all.

“We’re trying to plan on how to get Harry and Neville back. We’re not sure how, yet. We don’t know where they are.” Blaise looked imploring, asking a question without forming the words. “You’ve been to their meetings. Is there a popular location? Somewhere they typically meet?”

It has been rare events when Severus was surprised. This was definitely one of those times. They were trying to plan a rescue?

“There is one place meetings always occur, as of late.” Severus answered slowly. He wasn’t tired, he was trying to stall. “But it is heavily fortified. None can enter the property even if one were blood.”

In a rare bit of frustration, Blaise rubbed at the top of his head, huffing exasperated. “We need something, sir. Anything will work. We’re going spare waiting for the Aurors.”

“Waiting for us?” A voice echoed in the hospital wing.

A couple Aurors including Mad Eye and Tonks entered in their full garb. Seven in total.

“Severus.” Mad Eye nodded in acknowledgement. “We’ve got specific information from someone in the Inner Circle, we need you to confirm.” Mad Eye demanded in lieu of further pleasantries. Severus looked around at the Aurors. He didn’t recognize any as being Death Eaters themselves. Though he knew that if any Aurors were inside Voldemort’s camp, they would have protected their identities well.

“Come now, Mister Snape,” the annoyingly tall and jovial wizard was bouncing on the tips of his toes. “Got any juicy news for us?”

“Who are you’re friends, Alastair?” Severus asked, hoping to hear a familiar name. Or, maybe, hoping he wouldn’t.

“You know Tonks, Tom Robastan, Carrie Haynesworth, Michael Li, Thorfinn Rowle, and Rachel Goldman.” Mad Eye went around the group.

Severus stiffened. Thorfinn? The tall, obnoxious blond was what Rowle really looked like? He was trying to sit up, exclaim he knew who Rowle was when the man weaved through Severus’ students. He paused by Draco, smiling tightly.

“We’re very concerned for Mister Potter and Longbottom. If we could get to them before any harm befalls them, the better.” Rowle let his hand rest heavily on Draco’s slim shoulders. Severus grew angry, this bastard. He was a member of the Inner Circle. He has been duping Mad Eye all this time. Severus desperately wanted to out the man, but he couldn’t be sure that Thorfinn wouldn’t be quicker than any other wizard or witch here. He was far too close to Draco. “Does Harry have anyone very close to him? Someone he’d be willing to comeback for? Our information says he’s been fully enfolded into being a Death Eater.”

What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to warn Alastair and protect his students at the same time? Any name he gives in truth to Mad Eye would be directly given over to the Dark Lord when Rowle found the time. Any lie he told would likely seal Harry’s fate.

“I’m unsure I know what you mean, Rowle.” Severus tried growling, voice dark and deep. But the only thing he was able to do was choke on his words and throw himself into a coughing fit. He glared at Rowle, at where he was clutching Draco’s shoulder.

“We have reason to believe that there is someone else on the inside, someone that would be willing to help Harry and Neville.” Rowle kept explaining. “If we know who this person is maybe we could encourage this person to help Harry to escape with Neville and any prisoners they can. This person sounds dedicated to Harry.”

Severus shook with hate. There was no other Death Eater that cared for Harry like that. There was no hope outside of Harry’s own raw power that could help Harry and Neville now. And how dare Rowle use Harry’s name so flippantly. As if he really knew who Harry was. The man had been drooling over his boy since Severus had went back. Who knows how much longer before then.

“I don’t know of anyone else, Alastair.” Severus spoke honestly. “I can’t imagine Harry has very many friends within those ranks.”

“There wasn’t anything you saw, any member there that paid too much attention to him?” Mad Eye asked. Severus of course had an answer for that. The man in questions was standing right there.

“None.”

“Pity,” Rowle answered, withdrawing his hand from Draco. Mad Eye shook his head in frustration. The rest of the Aurors sighing against the news. They’d been rallied to act immediately. If only Severus had given the information to Alastair like he wanted, needed, to do. Even if Rowle would be no use to Harry or Neville.

“Go back to headquarters, I’ve got some things to wrap up here.” Mad Eye waved off his team. Rowle caught Severus’ eye daringly, a sick smile greasing his lips. If only Severus could use his magic. He’d show the wizard just how dangerous he really was. When the Aurors had disappeared, Mad Eye blocked Severus’ vision. “Who don’t you trust on my team?”

Fearing for Harry and Neville’s safety, Severus didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows. “Would you really make a deal with a devil, Alastair?”

“I would if they were honest about helping.” Mad Eye dug around in his pockets. Severus wasn’t interested in anything that could come out of that shabby coat, so he kept his attention on the ceiling above him. “I’ve got something for you,” Mad Eye withdrew something in his fist, Severus lolled his head to the side to see what the man had. His eyes went wide as soon as he recognized it. “It’s been deactivated. The curse on it either wore out or is active in you and Harry.”

The little brass pocket mirror rolled gently out of Mad Eye’s hand and into Severus’ sweating ones. It was the mirror! The little pocket mirror Albus said he’d destroyed.

“What do you mean active? What curse?” Severus stroked the cool metal; the darkened grooves held the ghost of tiny hands and whispered secrets.

“It’s a Japanese artifact, meant to bind two people together.” Mad Eye sat in an empty chair Blaise quickly vacated. Everyone was watching Severus trying not to cry over the little pocket mirror. “The thing is, it’s meant between a ruler and servant. And seeing how you have been reacting on anything to do with Potter, I don’t believe this thing is responsible for you and his connection.”

Severus looked up, vision swimming a little. He had questions, so many questions, but he couldn’t get them out.

“I’ve done all the tests I can on the blasted thing. It’s ordinary. Just another mirror.” Mad Eye produced something else from his pockets, a small roll of paper. He unfurled it, looked at it, then passed it over to Severus. “With a little digging I found this in the ministry. You said you’d only met Harry on the street when he was five. Is that still true? Because if it were, I would be very interested in knowing how a shield mate’s bond formed between you and an infant Potter.”

The slip of paper had a date on it, a location, and the type of bond written in red. Gold leaf embossed around their names, like a proud frame.

“Shield mate?” Severus asked, not sure what Alastair was getting at. “I-I went to their house. In Godric’s Hollow. I was the first on site after the Dark Lord had died. Harry was the only one alive, screaming, bloody and panicked. I don’t know what happened.” Severus pressed the page to his lips, hoping it could reveal more to him in confidence. “I picked him up. But as soon as Black arrived, I handed Harry over. It was the hardest thing I’ve had to do. Leaving my boy behind.”

“Not your boy.” Mad Eye explained, “Through a profound loss shared between you two, over the bodies after a battle, the two of you latched onto one another. You would defend him with your dying breath, yes? And he would you. Brothers in arms. Siblings of war and loss. He had no idea what he was doing, but you did, didn’t you? You promised Harry you would protect him, serve vengeance for him. His magic likely agreed and reciprocated. That’s why you two are close. That’s why you would give anything for him.”

Shield mates. Was their bond really as simple, and deep, as that? A kinship forged over the death of Lily, sealed in their promise to protect and deliver justice for one another. How could an infant swear that kind of fealty?

But it didn’t explain other things. Their mind connection, their shared visions in wake or dreams. Severus was sure, now that he’d been able to step back and analyze things, that he was seeing snippets of Harry’s life. Through his eyes. A smiling little boy with dark skin being told a story, a giggling little girl bouncing in his arms, heated kisses and drawn out pleasures alone or in company. This bond didn’t explain how he would swear his life to Harry as a lover would. He would ensure his boy would want for nothing. Everything would be offered, nothing asked in return except the knowledge of the boys’ happiness.

“I see through his eyes. Hear what he hears. How can that be possible?” Severus asked. He was afraid to ask about the other things, too afraid to know if their bond is the things making Severus want Harry. Wanting to kiss him, rock him to sleep, cook for him, make love to him.

“You’re both powerful wizards. I’m sure this bond only amplifies your desires. Separated, you want to know where he is, how he is, if he’s suffering. I’m certain he experiences the same for you.”

 _“Sev?”_ A small voice asked, quiet and secretive. _“Are you awake? Your alive!_ ”

“It’s Harry,” Severus answered Mad Eye’s questioning look. His magical eye whizzing around the room, following an invisible trail. _“I’m awake. I’m healing. Are you safe. What about Neville?”_

 _“Oh, thank the gods!”_ Harry exclaimed, his joy bleeding through their link as if Severus could taste it. _“We’re safe, for now. But my Master is summoning everyone. Something is happening I don’t know how much time he has left.”_

“ _What about you?”_ Severus asked while relaying their conversation to the students and Mad Eye. _“Come home, child. Come back to me. Please. I need you. I need you by my side.”_

 _“You don’t want me, Sev. I’ve done terrible things. Things you wouldn’t be proud of. I’m sorry.”_ Harry sounded near in tears. _“I’ve got to go, Master is angry with me. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you, Sev. I love you.”_

The mantra continued until a flare of pain erupted over their connection.

“Something’s happening.” Severus thought he might have said it before, but it bared repeating. “Malfoy Manor, there may be near forty there. Harry says everyone is being summoned.”

“We’ll get to it. We’ll get them, Severus. We’ll bring them home somehow.” Mad Eye limped quickly out the room, staff pounding hard against the flagstone. He was barking orders at the Aurors in attendance. Rowle and Goldman racing ahead of everyone else. Severus hoped that Alistair’s unspoken trust in his Aurors were strong. Though Rowle was at meetings and had offered planning’s and insiders’ information from the Auror department, Severus had never seen Rowle commit as evil acts as Severus had. Rowle could be a spy.

He hoped Rowle was a spy for the Order, he’d always been a little off so it might explain his display earlier with Draco. Severus could only hope he was wrong about Rowle being a full-fledged Death Eater. Harry and Neville’s survival depended on it. 

Draco, Ron, and Hermione burst into more questions. But Severus was so tired. He had been fighting since the Auror’s arrived to stay conscious. He had to trust Mad Eye, had to trust that Harry will do anything to save Neville. To come home.

“Come home, Harry.” Severus recalls murmuring, quite voiced placating him. Calming him. “Come home.”

Neville woke abruptly when strong hands wrapped around his upper arm. There were shouts of excitement coming from up the stairs. Two men dragged Neville to his feet and pulled him along when he couldn’t walk himself. Neville tried swallowing down the bile and panic. It would be a waste if he retched up the fresh food Dobby was able to sneak for him.

Faces melted around him, shouts of victory rising up around them. It was a veritable mob. Men and women, young and old, shouted and danced around Neville. Likely unable to wait for his execution.

“Neville Longbottom, my favorite prisoner.” Voldemort laughed over the cacophony of his followers. Harry stood stock still and neutral next to his obviously Auror husband. Neville wanted to spit the man’s way. But he was worried Harry might think it was for him. Instead, he folded in on himself when he was punched in his stomach. Ropes were cast around his person, tightening like snakes around his body. “My, my, my, all of our efforts, finally come to bear fruit. Your death will bring in so much peace, I hardly can fathom the thought.”

“Small minds often can’t comprehend big thoughts.” Neville shouted over the jeering din. “Might want to set your sights a bit smaller.”

Voldemort laughed, his red eyes crinkling in dark pleasure. “It will be a joy to finally be able to kill you, Neville Longbottom. The Chosen One. But first,” Voldemort held his hand up, looking over his followers. His rabid clan. “A final test for our lovely new couple. Harry, Thorfinn, here. I’d like to know how you would dispose of this wretched filth.” Voldemort pointed to Neville.

Harry straightened his spine, not sure what game he was playing. Neville wept for who Harry used to be. If these kind of mind games was part of Harry’s daily life, it’s a wonder he’d kept his sanity. Had been able to keep his kindness.

Harry allowed himself to be dragged against Thorfinn’s side, eyes jumping around the room wildly trying to come up with something.

“Invite the press.” Harry intoned, voice flat. “One or two will do. Make it public. That way no one will deny you are the rightful ruler of Great Britain, Master.”

“Curse him now, my lord.” Bellatrix breathed excitedly. Neville watched as red eyes cut to the woman, silently ordering her down.

“Torture him.” Another voice rang out.

“Execution.”

“Publicly, kill him publicly.”

“We’ll have time,” Harry cut in through the throng of demands. The group quietened immediately. Reverently. Neville didn’t miss it. And neither did Voldemort. “Torture him until the press get here. We’ll go somewhere public, the school. Rub it in Albus’ face.”

“Yeah!”

“Kill the blood traitor!”

“Kill Longbottom.”

Voldemort held his hand up, voices quietening slowly. Neville could have smiled at the obvious shift in power. This was Harry. This was the power he held. Once held captive, he learned his environment and flourished. This was his domain. And Neville wanted to hate Harry for it because of the casual mention of torturing Neville.

“A public execution. We’ll hang his body over the parapets of the castle after taking it. Let the first years take their aim at it. Lovely, pet.” Voldemort giggled maniacally.

Neville was really worried for himself now. How was Harry and he supposed to escape? Thorfinn kept Harry by his possessive side, the children across the room, and Voldemort an arm’s reach in front of him.

“Now,” Voldemort gleamed. “Why don’t we celebrate in front of the illustrious Dumbledore. He’ll never expect our arrival at the school.” Voldemort beckoned Harry to his side. Neville was breathing harder as more Death Eaters began to surround him. He’d get pinched and yanked while Voldemort wasn’t watching.

Neville struggled against the three wizards who yanked him to his feet. He took too long to get his feet under him, so they began to drag him.

“Yaxley, bring our dear journalists to us. Meet at the edge of the forest east of the school.” Harry commanded over the celebration. Neville just caught sight of Harry leaning up to give Thorfinn a kiss on the lips. The procession of dark wizards and witches made their way out the manor, shooting off spells into the sky in excitement. Neville could still see Harry’s back. His narrow shoulders stiff and held back, head high.

By the small handfuls they all disapparated. He hoped that Harry had a plan. Something to make sure that they could survive, if not come out of all this unscathed. But it wasn’t the plans of trying to stay alive that distracted Neville, but the slits for eyes when Harry looked over his shoulder, gauging something. Harry’s pupils appeared snake-like and it took Neville’s breath away.

Just what had happened to Harry? It was like he was already housing Voldemort’s soul and all he needed were red eyes rather than green. But, then, with a blink of his owlish eyes, they were gone. Thorfinn leaned down one last time to whisper something in Harry’s ear. The boy nodded.

They all apparated, feet landing in patches of snow and wet, mossy forest floor just at the edge of the forest, nearly behind Hagrid’s hut. Neville hoped the man wasn’t in, because several people lit it on fire, the fiend flames licking and consuming the hut. Neville shouted for Hagrid and Fang. There were other creatures being cared for in Hagrid’s hut. He typically had young who’d been abandoned, injured little or big creatures. And they all burned, the dying sounds concealed by the roaring flames.

Bellatrix was dancing maniacally, hands up in the air, screeching at the top of her lungs as if it were her victory.

“Bring the boy,” Voldemort didn’t bother looking behind him, expecting his greasy followers to immediately follow orders. Harry turned his body and waved his hand in a come-here motion. Magic ripped Neville out of the Death Eater’s hands, dragging his feet across the forest floor to be grabbed up by Thorfinn. Harry’s eyes caught Neville’s as he stared into Neville’s face. The other boy’s eyes wavered from slits to rounded blown pupils. It was like his eyes were glowing, so much magic coursing through Harry in the moment. Neville’s breath caught when he remembered a bit of information Severus had shared.

Harry was talking to Severus.

“Soon they will come pouring out.” Voldemort said, his voice tight with glee. Neville shivered. Searching green eyes settled in their round shape, looking over Neville’s shoulder. “Bring him with us, pet.”

_“Severus, please answer me. Sev!”_ Harry kept trying to reach out, his head nearly splitting with the effort. He’d been trying to notify Severus since Voldemort led the way outside. He didn’t think his Master would have wanted to move so quickly. He hoped that the journalists from the papers would arrive to the Manor first, giving Harry more time to think of a way out. _“Sev, please, wake up. Sev, we need you.”_

There was also the concern of his children. He had to time this well, if he could get an opportunity at all. Firstly, he’d have to make sure more than enough people from within the castle had come out. With Severus still trying to heal, there would be even less people within the castle that he thought he could trust. If it were only Albus that came out, well, then he’d have to think of something else.

The Master lead their troupe towards the castle, the hill up from Hagrid’s house was large enough Harry was almost winded. It seemed like a lifetime ago since he’d been here. Since he’d been home. He was so close he wanted to cry.

Owls from the owlery flew about, crows crying in the distance, the wind creaking through the trees. The smell of the snowy highlands a faint and distant memory that almost choked Harry. This was home. He was so close. Severus was up in the castle like some fair maiden in a Muggle storybook. But Harry was no white knight.

“Ah,” Voldemort chortled, excited when the front doors opened. Albus had come out first, his brightly colored robes flowing behind. A large pointed hat followed, who had to be Professor McGonagall and likely a few other teachers Harry had forgotten. “Here they are.”

Harry reached behind him, grabbing the collar of Neville’s dirty shirt. Between Thorfinn and himself, Neville should be fine. As long as Bellatrix, who stood just behind Harry was the real concern.

“Hello, Tom.” Albus greeted. Harry had to swallow around a chuckle. Was Tom his master’s true name? “I see you’ve brought along with you some friends.”

It frustrated Harry and Voldemort both how lackadaisical the old man was feigning to be. Harry remembered the burning blue eyes when he was upset, when his machinations hadn’t gone to plan. He recalled the times Albus had dismissed Harry’s plea for protection from his Muggle family. There was nothing serene about the bastard.

“Harry and I brought a little something to commemorate our immortality.” Voldemort waved towards Neville. The taller boy was still hunched. The ropes keeping his body compact and unable to lash out. “To show just how strong we are.”

“I see,” Albus stood against the bitter wind that had picked up. The only reason why he wasn’t ushering the children inside had to be because of the barrier. The protective charm that kept all enemies of Hogwarts out of the immediate boundaries. It was the reason why his Master had stopped so far away. “So, you’ve made young Harry into a Death Eater, Tom?”

“Of course, I have.” Voldemort sneered. Harry twitched with instinct; it was the same hissing noise he made just when he was going to strike Harry. “The perfect little pet. Lucius and the others have done a fine job in teaching the boy submission. Harry,” Voldemort called to him, Harry kept trying to call out to Severus. Neville couldn’t afford for him to stop now. “To me.”

Harry swallowed hard. His master was dragging Harry away from Neville. This was not what the other boy needed. But he let loose of Neville’s collar and approached his master. It only took four steps, a hand on his shoulder pressing him down and Harry went smoothly to his knees.

He had to tamp down the excitement he felt when Severus finally answered him. He quickly spoke to Severus, making sure to include as much as he could.

“He’ll obey my every command.” Voldemort sliced a deep cut from Harry’s right ear to his top lip. Blood poured out quickly, his shirt soaking up as much it could. “Do not heal this.”

“Yes, Master.” Harry replied automatically. He hadn’t even jerked in surprise. He knew Voldemort would showcase something this brutal. Albus stared at Harry, eyes boring into his. What the fuck was this bastard looking at. Why wasn’t he trying to save Neville?

_“Harry, The Order is on their way. I heard you.”_

It took everything Harry had not to react to Severus’ words. It took even more when he realized that Albus had seen his pupils dilate. Albus took a breath, his face relaxing, then blinked three times. Two times. One.

Harry used his weight to throw Voldemort off him. The man was so surprised he didn’t react when Harry used a cutting curse on him. And, of course, Voldemort was able to re-direct the spell. It twisted down and into the ground, dirt flying up everywhere.

There was a blast of movement all around him. Bellatrix shrieked in anger and came after Harry. As quickly as he could, Harry got up and began slinging as many spells as he could, making sure that no one got too near Neville. Yaxley and a few others early touched Neville’s shirt, hungry fingers gripping air.

Rodulphus made his way towards Thorfinn were they were picking Neville up from rolling on the ground to get away. Rodulphus pointed his wand at Neville and Harry worried that the man was going to kill the other boy before he could even get a couple feet away. With a swish of his wand the ropes fell off and Neville was able to get up. Thorfinn pushed Neville towards the barrier where Albus and many other darkly colored witches and wizards flung spells against the Death Eaters.

Albus directly attacked Voldemort, wands and spells flying swiftly through the air in different blasts of colors. Harry couldn’t see well enough to know which spells were being used, but he did know not to get into the crossfire of the two of them.

Harry was distracted by the two wizards fighting to notice the movement behind him. Then, there was a searing, blinding pain somewhere in his body. He was so confused he couldn’t even scream. Gritting his teeth, Harry felt when Bellatrix’s knife dug deeper into his stomach. It twisted before slicing across his middle. Shouting, Harry reached up with his free hand and grabbed her hair. His grip already felt so weak he growled in frustration. Saving Neville. That’s all that mattered. If Neville was safe, he would make sure Severus and Harry’s children were safe. Would make sure they were protected.

Wild black eyes shone in bloodlust, the whites of them glossy. Bellatrix withdrew the knife and stabbed him again. He could feel it in his pelvis, scratching against bone and tendon. A burning hot pain went up his side. Harry heard multiple spells going off at once. He couldn’t see what was happening to Neville, but they were still ten meters from the boarder before he was safe.

“I’ll finally get to kill you, whore.” Bellatrix cackled. Harry had to move fast. He had to fight back. The pain was something he could handle. He’d been stabbed before. And Petunia’s cleaver was far more accurate than these little pig stickers Bellatrix masterfully wielded. He smiled, blood dripping from his teeth where he’d bit his lips.

“Fucking bitch.” Harry growled. With renewed effort he summoned his lightning, the head in his hands shaking in disbelief. Bella had always forgotten he knew wandless magic. He breathed in sharply, drawing the strongest bits of his magic to him to fry the woman’s brain. She convulsed in his hands. As did anyone else that was nearby.

“Harry!” Thorfinn’s voice shouted from a distance. Harry tried finding his husband, but couldn’t see him in the immediate melee. “Run!”

Run, he says. As if Harry could heal himself that quickly. His guts were nearly hanging out, a slippery hand holding himself together. Run, as if he could get two paces before falling down. Run, as if beyond the finish line is the only place he could rest. As if running would put him in Severus’ arms.

Instead, he rolled out from beneath the hag. Her limp and charred body rolling down the hill.

“My Lord!” Rodulphus grabbed at Harry, “Come.”

Large hands heaved Harry up. Cradled against a large, barrel-sized chest, Harry bled out. He grit his teeth and concentrated his magic on stemming the blood flow and healing what he knew he could immediately.

“Harry!” That was Ron’s voice. But where the red head was, Harry couldn’t tell. His vision was still shit beyond a meter. One would think he could see a shock of red hair in the wave of fighting. But no.

“Rodulphus, Neville.”

“He is safe, M’Lord.” Rodulphus’ burly voice rumbled in his chest. It made Harry shake in memory. “Your husband is behind the barrier. I’ll take you to him.”

Rodulphus sprinted up the hill. Harry could see where spells repelled off the barrier. Brightly colored lights and flex of magic in the air almost overwhelmed Harry. They were getting closer, Harry could feel himself stitching closed, his vessels and veins healing. Thankfully the bitch missed his artery. He gave a chuckle of good fortune that she was too enraged to aim properly. Or too eager to kill him.

Harry tried chuckling, he couldn’t hear Thorfinn, he hoped that the bastard would stick to the plan. He was running through his mind what his next options were. Severus. His kids. Narcissa. What does he do first? Does he run? Hide somewhere in the world where the coming war won’t touch them? Severus had to be healed first. Not to mention himself. These wounds were bad. He was getting lightheaded. Then again, it could be because he was flying through the air in the next moment.

The remnants of a stinging hex had glanced off Harry’s leg, immobilizing him for a minute. He was face first in the ground, dirt and grass in his mouth. Dazed, he lifted his head and saw Voldemort approaching, bleeding just like Harry. So some part of Harry’s spell did make contact. He couldn’t believe that Albus would use a hex that deadly.

“How dare you disobey me.” His red eyes glowed hell-hot. Harry swallowed hard around the fear lodged in his throat. He thought he would be sick he was in so much pain and trouble. “I’ll eviscerate you where you lie. Pig.”

Panicking, Harry withdrew his wand and pointed it at Voldemort. His mind was blank. There were so many spells at his command but he couldn’t utter a single one of them. So many painful memories of Uncle Vernon charging him in anger. When Harry had been pressed down into the sofa, about to be raped. The times when Dudley and his friends had caught Harry, making him do all sorts of things if he weren’t beat for simply existing. When Petunia would beat him with various kitchen items. All his years being in the Manor.

Memories of painful trainings, roaming touches, cooing words from Narcissa to get him to stand again. “So strong, Harry. You will succeed.” She would say. The lustful eyes from more than Thorfinn. Rodulphus. Lucius.

 _“Harry.”_ Severus voice was clean and clear in Harry’s mind where the dark mist of fear enveloped him. Froze him. _“Concentrate, baby.”_

“AVADA KEDAVRA!“

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

They shouted at the same time. Harry’s red, dancing bolt connected with Voldemort’s green. A large amount of magic pouring from Harry’s body at the same time. He tried concentrating. Tried to funnel the wild magic into his wand. The oak vibrating from the amount of power he wielded. Harry worried it wouldn’t be enough. He worried he was going to die here. That he wouldn’t be able to see Severus again.

No. Fuck that shit. He was going to see Sev. Even if he were taking his last breaths, Harry would see Sev in this lifetime. He promised Severus the man wouldn’t be alone.

Instead of pushing his wild magic through the wand, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on those around him. Rodulphus was laying against his hip, Thorfinn’s magical signature was gone, and there were only a few other Death Eaters fighting against Voldemort’s more devoted or scared followers. Lucius, too, was fighting. Then there was Albus, McGonagall, Ron, Draco, Blaise, Hermione, Neville, the young red head and the younger blond girl from the Department of Mysteries. He could very clearly see them in his head.

He controlled his breathing, careful not to let his current spell go. He opened his eyes just as a bolt of lightning fell from the sky. It struck Voldemort. Other, smaller strikes jumped around, finding Harry’s enemies. They fell as thick as rain but arched as if a god himself struck from the sky. Yaxley, Greyback, Crabbe, Goyle, McNair, so many others that Harry wanted dead. So many others that would stop at nothing to get their hands on Neville or Severus.

“Die, bastards.” Harry’s breath came shallow, his head drooping. Time seemed to stretch after Harry released the wild magic. The lightning fell away without a single drum of thunder in the sky. He remembered sitting there, vision clouding in white.

“My Lord.” Rodolphus shouted, an arm reaching around behind Harry. “My Lord, they’re gone. They’re gone. Your husband has your children and Narcissa. They’re here and safe.”

Harry thought he said something. He thought he stood up and ran to his children and hugged them. He thought he could hear Severus’ joyful voice in his ear, kissing his face. “You did it.”

“Sev’r’s.” Harry panted, just before he passed out.

Severus watched as they brought Harry into the hospital wing. As soon as he realized the boy wasn’t moving, he tried getting up. Vaguely, he realized that Rodulphus was carrying him in. Thorfinn behind him carrying a toddler, and Narcissa an infant.

“What happened?” Severus could barely lift his head, much less drag his sorry carcass out of the bed he’d been all but tied down to. He was still so weak, but the sight of an unconscious Harry being carried in by a Death Eater more than got him up.

His legs got tangled up in the sheets as Rodulphus placed Harry gingerly in the bed beside Severus.

“I asked what happened!” He shouted, hands reaching out to Harry. He was able to get closer, his legs shaking with the effort to get him to Harry’s side. Two more heart stopping moments and he was there, fingers dancing along Harry’s bloody torso. He pried open the robes he was wearing. His fingers kept slipping, not just because of how much blood was there, but because he couldn’t grip very well.

“Severus, slow down. I’ll help him.” Poppy chided, but her attention dutifully on Harry. “Lastrange, get back. Now. I will not have you here.”

“He helped us, Madam Pomfry.” Neville Longbottom, Severus’ head shot up, seeing one of his students, home as well.

“Neville, dear boy you’re back as well.” Severus panted. He was losing strength fast. But he had to remain awake. Had to make sure Harry was fine.

“Papa, what’s wrong with papa?” The toddler in Rowle’s arms squirmed, trying to get down. “I wanna see papa!”

“Severus, press here. I need you.” Poppy ordered. Severus zoned in, applying pressure with his two fingers where directed. “He’s bleeding internally, I have to slow the flow. But any slower and his heart may give out.”

“He had to have healed himself.” Rowle spoke up, thankfully too far away for Severus to strangle. But the man’s deep blue eyes were trained on Harry. Severus felt his hackles rising at that look. “Bellatrix had nearly gutted him. It shouldn’t be that bad.” The man kept the child’s head down and away from Harry. The boy crying uncontrollably causing the infant to stir up as well.

“Regardless, his blood pressure is too low. And it’s dropping.” Poppy caught Severus’ eyes. “What blood type is he?”

“AB negative.” Severus rattled out quickly. How had he remembered that after all these years? Harry had only offered it once, after he’d broken his arm from falling out a tree. He had to get a bag full of it because it nicked a major vein.

“I’m O negative,” Neville offered, “Take my blood.”

It took Poppy less than a skip of a heartbeat to get the instruments set up. She encouraged people to stay out of her way, telling Rowle to get the children behind a curtain. Neville rolled up his sleeve, veins already showing.

“A thing of beauty,” Poppy said before inserting a needle connected to a tube. It fed into a hanging bag. After it filled partially she took the other line from it and put it into the inside of Harry’s elbow. “Mister Longbottom your veins are perfect for donating. You should consider it in the future.”

“I like my blood where it’s at, ma’am. I’m just glad I can help Harry.” The boy looked pale and queasy. Severus would have admonished him, even if only in jest, but Harry twitching and moaning underneath his hand drew his attention.

“Harry, baby, you’re safe. You’re with me, you’re safe.” Severus kept repeating, hoping that he could get through to Harry.

It took Poppy two hours to get Harry stitched up, and another donor to replenish what Harry had lost. In the mean time, Neville relayed what had happened for them to escape.

“Honestly, Severus, it all happened so quickly. You should have seen Harry. He’s like an animal.” Neville chuckled.

Severus was back in his bed, though, now, closer to Harry’s. There was a gap for Poppy to get between theirs, but only just. She tutted only once and left them alone. The children had finally calmed down, though were kept from Harry still.

“Those children, whose are they?” Severus asked. Neville was on Harry’s other side, sitting on a bed. They’d all been shuffled around inside as Albus and the other Order Members brought the injured in. Rodulphus had been arrested and taken as well as Lucius. The pregnant Narcissa and Thorfinn remained with the children. Severus had never remembered seeing or hearing children at the Manor.

“Oh, uhm,” Neville bit his lip nervously. He was avoiding Severus’ stare. Severus didn’t like the implications. “It’s, they’re Harry’s. He adopted them, I guess, sometime ago. I don’t know when. But, H-Harry’s also m-married. To that wizard Thorfinn.”

“WHAT?” Severus tried sitting up again, ready to strangle some throats. The infant woke up and started crying. The little boy asking his ‘father’ what was wrong. “That’s illegal!”

“That’s what they said! Honest, Severus!” Neville hunched down. He hadn’t acted this way since he was a first year. Severus tried reigning in his control. It was oh, so hard. Especially when Thorfinn was cowering behind the curtain, trying to distract the toddler. “Thorfinn came down to the dungeons holding the boy, Archon. He introduced the kid as he and Harry’s. I’m sorry, Severus.”

“There’s no way they are officially married. It’s illegal to marry someone so young. They’d have to have Harry’s guardian’s permission. And they died in a fire.”

“That’s just what I’ve been told. I don’t know any more.” Neville was defending himself, putting his hands up and not making eye contact. Severus began coughing, the burning in his chest and throat making it impossible to continue any further.

Thorfinn was lucky that Severus couldn’t use any of his magic. That he was too weak to slit the man’s throat. He’d happily watch the man choke on his own blood if everything was true.

As it were, the man came around the partitions, not even looking sheepish. Severus glared balefully at the man. He was still holding the boy, Archon, who was biting his thumbnail and looking at Harry.

“Is papa sleeping?” Archon asked, head on Thorfinn’s shoulder.

“Yes, he is.” Thorfinn kept his eyes on Harry, walking ever closer. “Papa got really hurt and has to sleep for a while. But he’ll wake up soon.”

“Will he play Arthur with me?”

“Of course.” Thorfinn deposited the little boy at the foot of the bed. “Don’t jostle papa.”

“I won’t.” The boy crawled carefully up, the old springs groaning under the boy’s meager weight. “Hi Neville.”

“Hello Archon.” Neville greeted politely.

Severus watched as the little boy nestled himself next to Harry. He began to tell Harry his adventures of being rescued by his father, how grandma was scared and how Archon protected his little sister Andy. Severus smiled, remembering the days when Harry would prattle on about nothing in particular.

“We saved those kids, Severus.” Thorfinn spoke from across the room. He hadn’t moved from where he let Archon crawl around on the bed. “Our only way of protecting them was to marry.”

“If you think the Wizengamot will forgive you for being a Death Eater and marrying a boy underage, you’ll be sorely mistaken, Rowle.” Severus tried putting as much anger into his words as he could.

What was the reason why Alastair hadn’t arrested Rowle as immediately as he had Lucius and Rodolphus? Narcissa had even been given the side eye, her being pregnant was likely what kept her out of irons.

“I’ve only been on orders from the department. Shacklebolt asked me to use my connections to remain inside and get information. When I found out that Harry was still alive I did everything I could to protect him. Saving these children meant we had to do something drastic. Harry has not been forced into marriage with me.”

“That’s good to hear, Auror Rowle.” Alistair came limping in behind Dumbledore, Poppy to follow. There were a few other Aurors trailing behind him, every one of them in the crimson robes. Severus only hoped that Rowle was next to be arrested.

“Good evening, sir.” Thorfinn bowed smoothly. “I’m glad to see you here.”

“Not as glad as you shouldn’t be.” Alastair snarled. “We’ve obtained a copy of your marriage certificate and adoption papers. We’ll be able to test soon how much of the truth you’re telling.”

“I assure you, sir, I haven’t been lying. I have been on orders from the head of my department.” Thorfinn argued.

“As I’ve said.” Alastair stood in front of Thorfinn, Severus couldn’t help but smile. “Is he ready?”

“Of course.” Poppy came forward and took out her wand. She stood over Harry, Neville having jumped out of her way, and waved her wand, chanting something. Severus might have recognized it from his sleep. When he was too far out of it to recall much of anything.

Severus watched Harry carefully. Long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath came quicker by the second. He was rousing.

“Papa?” Archon called out meekly. “Papa, wake up.” The entire room watched and waited for Harry to open his eyes.

 _“Sev?”_ Harry’s voice echoed in Severus’ head before Harry’s eyes even twitched.

 _“It’s fine, Harry, I’m here. Alistair wants to confirm how well Rowle treated you.”_ Severus kept his face neutral. The only consolation was that Albus couldn’t tell if Severus and Harry were talking. Severus’ eyes were too dark to see his pupils. _“Just tell the truth. I’ll protect you.”_

_“Who’s Alastair?”_

_“He’s an Auror. He’s on our side, Harry.”_

“Papa, you’re awake!” Archon jumped on the bed, making Harry bounce. “Andy and Father and Gramma are here, too! I was brave, I didn’t cry once!”

“I’m so proud of you, lamb.” Harry smiled, stroking the little boy’s hair. He then looked around and caught Severus’ eyes. They both smiled at the same time. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Severus answered back. He couldn’t take in enough of Harry. The boy had gotten older since last he saw him, it seemed. Aged somewhat. It hurt Severus’ heart to see. But his boy didn’t seem to be worried about that. All he could do was hold the little boy in his arms, who was still talking, and watch Severus watching him. “You’re home."

“I’m home.” It sounded like a question, his voice strong and smooth. His eyes became glassy, green eyes turning into gleaming crystals. It took Severus’ breath away.

“Mister Potter,” Alastair gained Harry’s attention after repeating his name a couple of times. “Remember me?”

Harry nodded, then began sitting up. Poppy came to his side, helping him. Archon snuggling close when Harry propped himself at the headboard. Harry nodded his head, eyes taking in the haggard Auror.

“Of course, I remember you.” Harry stroked Archon’s back, rocking slightly. “I tried to kill you. But I thought your name was Mad Eye. At least, that’s what my master called you.”

“Mad Eye is a nickname. You’re married to Thorfinn Rowle. Were you forced into this union? Threatened? Blackmailed?” Alistair demanded answers in his gruff tone.

“Honestly! I already said it were my orders.” Thorfinn kept arguing. But his eyes tried catching Harry’s, pleading. Severus recognized that look. He’d seen it many times on the doomed.

“I was blackmailed.” Harry broke eye contact and looked down on Archon, who looked up at his papa adoringly, devotedly. And, honestly, who wouldn’t after meeting Harry? “To save who I consider my children.”

“Have you consummated the marriage? Made it official?”

“We’ve consummated many times, Alastair.” Harry said, smiling still at Archon.

“Has he forced you?”

“Purely consensual.” Harry looked up, locking eyes with Thorfinn, the man looking quite pale. “My husband took every opportunity and free time he could to remind me of his ardor. I became quite used to it.”

“Now, Harry, it’s not right to lie.” Throfinn urged.

“You’re right, it isn’t Thorfinn.” Harry smiled wickedly, the hairs on Severus’ arms stood on ends. This energy was so familiar. “Care to tell the Aurors how you crowed about how you’ve been duping everyone all these years. Wishing that you and I could take a proper honeymoon. Or perhaps how you’ve known all this time where I’d been. How you would salivate at my torture and training, hoping that I would give in to you as a child. Would you like to clarify a few things with them?”

Alastair slammed his staff into the floor, binding chains secured Thorfinn, a gag being placed into his mouth. He looked incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe his young husband would turn on him.

The rest of the Aurors took him away, Albus and Minerva standing back and out of the way. Neville and Poppy standing off to the side.

“Where’s father going?” Archon asked.

“Remember my saying he was a bad wizard? The red cloaks mean they’re Aurors. They are supposed to help when we’re in trouble.”

“But father was an Auror.” Archon wasn’t crying, it was as if he’d been expecting this. Could Harry have been planning their escape all along?

“Not all Auror’s are good. Just like not all people are bad.” Severus spoke up. He remembered telling Harry something similar. When he was bemoaning living with his Muggle family and how horribly he disliked them. That not all muggles were bad. “Never hurt anyone. Be kind when you can be. But don’t ever let yourself be hurt as well. I told the same thing to your papa.”

“We all have good and evil inside us, lamb.” Harry took Archon’s sharp chin and lifted it up gently. “Light and dark. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are. And sometimes, we fight with what’s inside us.”

“Like a war?”

“Just so, lamb.” Harry kissed the boy’s forehead, smiling against him in content. Severus thought no one looked as beautiful and at peace as Harry does now. And this time, he would protect that look. The gods help Albus if the old man got in their way again. Harry’s beautiful green eyes opened up, slits for eyes as he locked onto Severus’.

_“I’ll kill anyone who stands in our way.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been completed. Though will be at least a two-part series. HP/SS will come. Please be patient. Explore this corruption arc as you will. 
> 
> Underage dub-con and minor character death. Might be triggering. I'll try to remember warnings at the beginning of the fic.


End file.
